


Distant Tomorrows

by ConstruingCordiality



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, But they are the same at core, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gender Changes, Like REALLY slow-build, M/M, Major Manga Spoilers, Mikasa/Eren/Armin Friendship, Multi, Rating May Change, Supernatural Elements, They have entirely different names here, slow-build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstruingCordiality/pseuds/ConstruingCordiality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1206 A.T. (After Titan). Humans have finally rebuilt civilization following the defeat of the Titans. In this new world, long-forgotten memories masquerade as dreams and threaten to take the hard-won peace. </p><p>(Updated Weekly)</p><p>Chapter 5 Summary:<br/>"Because what History knows, History repeats."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [without_mission](https://archiveofourown.org/users/without_mission/gifts).



> This is my first time writing something as major as this one. I mean, sure, I've written multi-chapter fics before but this will be a long one, at least 20 chapters. I update every week, but if I don't make my weekly quota, feel free to message/remind me. 
> 
> It may be confusing at the beginning because all of them have completely different names (though it will still sound a bit like their original ones). Remember, this is a Reincarnation fic, so you can't really expect them to have the same names/identities. There are also a lot of gender swapping/changes throughout, so get ready. Some of them will be easy to guess, but there will be some who are pretty ambiguous. Feel free to guess who they are. ;)
> 
> I was inspired to write by without_mission's SnK story: To You 2000 Years From Now, which is also a Reincarnation AU. If you haven't seen that one yet, I suggest you check it out; it's a freaking work of art. (I'm still figuring out how to use AO3, so I don't really know how to tag or dedicate this story to her. If anyone knows how, please teach me!)
> 
> Update 09/05/14: OMG, I finally know how to gift a story! LOL. Thank you, tbiris, for your instruction. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a blue-green eyed boy and an Asian kid meet again for the first time.

 

Erikson Hunter—or simply Erik—lifted his hand to block the sun as he stepped beyond their gates. It was a small hand, smooth from the daily application of cocoabutter as instructed by his mother, but it was nothing spectacular other than the fact that it belonged to a six year old. And yet at this very simple action, the young boy found himself frowning then inspecting the natural creases in the small limb that did little to block the sunlight.

Slowly, he pulled it back; his other hand which tightly gripped the shoulder strap of his backpack loosened. This time, he bowed his neck, bright turquoise eyes staring at both of his palms. He didn’t know what he was looking for in his empty hands. There were times, though, that he would wake up in the middle of the night, panicking, shivering and calling out names he could not remember. He could hardly remember, let alone understand what he saw in those dreams but each time, Erik would instinctively look at his small grubby hands, and see it coated with steaming, slippery red which ebbed from the full grips of consciousness. He understood that it was the same substance that dripped from his scraped knees when he stumbled, or from his mother’s finger when she once accidentally pricked her finger with a needle.

The dream last night was particularly vivid, and he had woken up in the comforting arms of his mother. As he buried his face in her bosom, he hysterically cried about giant monsters that ate people.

“No more monsters,” she murmured softly. “No monsters tonight.”

But it was difficult to believe that, especially when he dreamt of a faceless woman trapped under rubble, and the smiling giant that lifted her like a doll. His own hand—bruised from futile attempts at lifting rocks—was outstretched. He seemed to be running backwards and no amount of screaming could stop that monster from snapping her neck, from swallowing her like a delicious snack. Somehow, he knew—just knew—that the snack was her mother.

His fists creasing the silk of her nightie was bloody and bruised that night. He could only squeeze his eyes tightly, warm drops escaping and sliding his chubby cheeks, and doze back into a fitful sleep as the sensation dissipated from his hands.

Experimentally, Erik flexed his fingers, feeling the pad of baby fat in his palms, and a vague sensation filled his chest—he felt lightheaded, nauseous and inexplicably happy at the same time. For some reason he could not understand, his throat felt tight, and his vision had become blurry. As fat drops splashed into the heels of his hands, he realized that he had been crying, and that the feeling he had experienced was wonder.

Erik formed twin tight fists.

_These are my hands._

His eyes swept at the sloping streets, at the towering lamps scattered on the sidewalks, at the cheerful houses huddled on each side. Music floated from one of their neighbours—some pop song with lyrics he kept forgetting. He lifted his eyes to the unblemished blue skies, unflinchingly met the harsh sun beneath generous lashes.

_This is my world._

“Erik!” Quickly, he wiped his collective tears and snot on his short sleeves.

“Mommy?” He had a childish voice, and he would not have wanted it any other way.

The beautiful woman with brown eyes which matched her black hair and chocolate skin walked quickly down the steps. “You left your lunch box again—it’s a good thing your bus isn’t here yet.” She tucked the lunchbox in his backpack and leaned down to inspect the vestiges of grief in his young face. Shyly, Erik ducked his head when she wordlessly pressed her lips against each of his damp cheeks. With large eyes, he peeked at her lined and worried ones. But her mouth was smiling when she said, “I love you, Erik.”

Warmth overflowed in his chest, spilling syllables into his mouth. “I love you, too, Mommy.”

As the school bus arrived, he indulged himself with a final hug and kiss before hopping in. He could not help but wave through the windows the moment he fell into his seat. As she disappeared from his sight, Erik leaned back, a dreamy smile spreading on his lips. When he comes back home, he would ask her to tell him a story. His dad would also be coming home from his business trip today and he looked forward to the prospect of souvenirs.

_A child’s life._

_It’s my life now._

Pressing his face against the windows, he dared not think of smiling monsters, dying people and steaming blood in his fingers.

 

* * *

 

 

The sandbox was too small for two children. It was that, or Akizawa Miruki—now Miruki Schmidt following his mother’s remarriage—was just naturally territorial. It wasn’t that he didn’t like other children; he simply enjoyed being alone far more than listening to the incessant babbles of other kids his age.

Miruki was often called a beautiful boy by their preschool teachers, something which he found stupid. Sure, his skin was the milky white legacy of the repopulated Asians and the corners of his grey eyes were slanted and set above high cheekbones concealed by baby fat. These features combined with his naturally pink lips and slender body often made adults wonder if he was truly a boy. As compensation, he would gift other children who dared approach him with the steady glare that he learned from his step-father. He was told that he looked like a wolf during such moments, and it pleased his young heart to know that he could be accounted as something dangerous.

So it came as a natural surprise when he found his usual empty sandbox occupied by another being.

This boy was the new addition to their kindergarten. If Miruki had not seen him up close, he had the opportunity to do so now. He had unruly black hair which shimmered brown where the sunlight hit; his skin reminded him of freshly toasted bread. As though sensing his presence, those sand-covered hands paused from castle-making and Miruki was rewarded with the full-blown attention of those big eyes (the half-Asian boy frowned—was it blue-green or green-blue?).

Something twinged in Miruki’s chest and he narrowed his already narrow eyes. He was hit by a sense of familiarity—later in his life, he would realize that the term for this sensation was déjà vu. At that moment, though, all he knew was that it was not the first time he had seen this boy.

Those blue-green (or green-blue) eyes looked at him unblinkingly. Before Miruki could gather his wits and tell off the other kid for stealing his sandbox, he was stunned by the alarmingly big smile on the other’s face.

“I’ve seen you before!” He said, impossibly bobbing up and down in his seated position. 

“At the classroom, you mean,” Miruki replied slowly.

“Nooooo,” crowed the boy, obviously pleased with himself. “Like—before! I know you!”

Miruki scratched his head. Papa Schmidt had previously warned him about “chemi-heads” and strangers. Was this boy a “chemi-head”? “Okay. Where did you see me?”

“In my dreams!”

Miruki blinked several times. Does this kid still have an imaginary friend? He never went through that phase—it was just dumb—but he had seen other kids talking to their dolls or talking about “Mr. Charlies” that only they saw. Mommy always told him that it was not okay to make fun of those kids and that they will get over it. But he still couldn’t help but ask. “Are you talking about an imaginary friend?”

The boy shook his head furiously. “What’s an imaginary friend? You’re weird!”

“Then what’re you talking about?” he asked, irked that he had been called weird by the weird kid.

With a long-suffering sigh, the boy explained. “Well…I have these dreams with big, giant monsters that sort of eat people. And I’m kind of like the hero in the dream, but I’m still a kid.”

He should really ask Papa Schmidt later; this one was a definite weirdo. “O-okay.”

“And you’re with me, and this other kid—who’s really smart. But you always scold me a lot. And you’re crazy strong, too.”

Entertained and drawn now, Miruki found himself sitting at the edge of the sandbox. “We fight monsters?”

“Yup!”

“Where are the adults in your dream?”

“Well…most of them get eaten, and a lot of the older guys are kind of bad people. But we have other friends…and we fight the big monsters.”

Miruki’s head was throbbing. “What do they look like?”

There was a frown on the kid’s face. “Well, they look kind of human but they don’t wear clothes…and they’re very, very big—bigger than houses—and there was one that was even taller than the Great Walls of Maria! Have you gone there before? Daddy once brought me and Mama there, and we even bought some cool souvenirs and stuff!”

“Yeah—yeah, I’ve been there with my mommy and Papa. Are you dreaming about Titans?” asked Miruki, impressed.

“I don’t know. What are Titans?”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Both of his parents were history buffs, what with Papa Schmidt being an archaeologist affiliated with the military and his mother a historian and college teacher. One of the favourite topics at home was the Titan Era more than a thousand years ago. “Nevermind. I’ll tell you next time. So, you said I’m ‘crazy strong’?”

“Yup!” he said, enthusiastically. “But there was also this other crazy strong dude who was older than us, and you hated that guy.”

“So, who’s stronger?” he asked, wondering why he was even wasting his time in this conversation.

“He is! He’s small but they called him Humanity’s Strongest. But you’re not too bad,” he added hastily upon seeing the crestfallen expression on the other’s face. “I was always jealous of you, even though you were my sister.”

Miruki chuckled. “You mean your brother.”

“Nooooo! My sister!”

The half-Asian stared, uncomfortable realization dawning. “I’m a boy.”

Suddenly, the kid frowned. “You are?”

“Yep.”

“But—but you look like a girl! And you’re a girl in my dreams!”

Annoyed now, Miruki fixed the wide-eyed boy with his firmest stare. “I’m a boy, you freak.”

“You—you have a peepee?”

Miruki had enough. Grabbing the kid by the scruffs, he literally threw him out of the sandbox.

“Oww—that hurts, Mikasa!” he shouted tearfully. “What’s your problem?”

“It’s Miruki, not Mikasa!” he shouted back, both furious and embarrassed. He instantly regretted saying his name—he had no intention of playing with this weirdo at all. He stomped in the sandbox, taking satisfaction in the confused expression on the other’s face as he resumed his throne. He looked at the half-crumbling sand structures. “What’s this? Three circles?”

“Those are walls! The outer circle is Maria, the middle one is Rose and the inner one is Sina.”

Miruki blinked, the throbbing in his head was getting worse, like an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t scratch. Of blue green eyes set against a teenage boy’s face. He shrugged this off.

“Whatever, Eren.”

“The name is Erik!”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes. Where did he even think up “Eren” anyways? Spitefully, he gave the other boy a dirty look before completely toppling Erik’s work with his bare hands.

With an animal-like snarl, Erik’s eyes flashed and he jumped back in the sandbox, fists flying. Roughly fifteen minutes later, they were found by their two preschool teachers; Miruki was straddling the still snarling boy prone boy, his arms tightly twisted behind him in a lock. When they were pulled apart, it was clear that Erik was the underdog, as he had more injuries: bruises on his right cheek and left jaw, a burst lower lip, sprained wrists and scraped knees. Miruki on the other hand only had a bruise on his left cheek. The most murderous expression was on his youthful face, his dark eyes molten steel.

“He hit me first!” He screamed shrilly. The small crowd of kids stepped back in the face of his righteous fury; one of them started crying and soon the chorus of incoherent and crying children filled the air.

“You destroyed my Walls! You’re a bad person!” shouted Erik back. For someone who lost in a tumble, he was doing a serious job of not crying.

“And you called me a girl!” The ‘bad person’ accusation really hurt Miruki. This was the first time he ever got into a fist fight, and the first time he was ever called by anyone bad. He just wanted to play alone…was that wrong?

“Erik, Miruki, stop this right now!” Teacher Isabella kneeled between the two kids. They instantly held their tongues. The young woman was always jolly, and her dark red hair pulled into pigtails made her look younger than she was. A stern expression replaced her usual jovial one today as though daring them to speak further. When there was none said, she sighed. “Faris, will you get the first aid kit while I talk to the boys?”

Teacher Faris, a young blonde man who remained unfazed throughout the entire scene, simply smiled and successfully ushered the small crowd of kids back to the classrooms with a bribe of ice cream.

“Now…explain.” The two only glared, as though daring the other to rat first. “All right. Miruki…since you’re older than Erik by five months, you start.”

Haltingly, he explained what happened, including the odd conversation with the boy. Teacher Isabella listened quietly, her expression giving nothing away. Halfway through the story, Teacher Faris arrived, and began nursing Erik. Occasionally, Miruki glanced at Erik’s way and saw the betrayed look on his face. Was the crap he was saying supposed to be their secret now?

When he finished, Teacher Isabella turned to Erik for his side of the story. She probed a bit about the dreams that he was having, to Miruki’s surprise. Once they were finished, the two teachers shared a look with each other; it was the same look that Miruki saw between his Papa and mommy, and they had explained before that they were talking with their eyes.

Why were they so interested in Erik’s story? What did that look mean?

“I understand,” said Teacher Isabella softly, and Miruki wondered just what she understood. She turned to him. “Miruki…I’ve been watching you, and I know you enjoy playing alone in that sandbox. But it’s wrong to hurt other kids for trying to play with you. Didn’t it occur to you that maybe Erik wanted to be friends with you?”

Friends? Though he was familiar with the meaning, the idea had not occurred to him at all. Apart from his parents, he had no one outside of the house which he considered as a friend. Enticed by this concept, he suddenly felt guilty for losing his temper. “N-no, Teach Isa.”

Smiling, she continued. “I’m sure you didn’t. If you want to play alone, it’s okay, but meeting new people, making friends will widen your world; it will be good for you, Miruki.”

“But—but he called me a girl,” he said stubbornly.

“Miru,” she said affectionately, rubbing the small bruise on his face. “In this world, there will be plenty of people who will say things about you….things you may not necessarily like. It’s okay to get angry, but violence is not the answer, okay? It may seem like the easiest response, but it’s not the smartest. And you’re plenty smart, aren’t you, Miru?” He nodded furiously. “See? Someday, you’ll figure out how to handle comments like that best without resorting to fighting. For now, repeat after me: Violence is not good.”

“V-violence is not good.”

“You, too, Erik.”

Startled at being addressed, Erik blinked. “Violence is not good.”

“Now, Erik,” she began. “Does Miruki look like a girl to you?”

“N-no, Teacher.”

“But you called him a girl.”

“C-coz he really looks like the girl in my dreams.”

At that, she took the young boy’s hands in hers. “Erik…Miruki may look like that girl, but he’s not that girl anymore, all right? You are here.” She emphasized by gripping his hand. “Not here,” and this time, she pointed to Erik’s forehead. Miruki only looked on in confusion. Erik only nodded slowly in vague understanding. With a sigh, she added. “There’s nothing wrong with those dreams. But don’t let it affect you. For now…they are just dreams, all right?”

“Right,” answered Teacher Faris for Erik. There was a sad expression on his handsome face. “And I’m done cleaning Erik’s knees.” Miruki was slightly impressed that the other boy did not flinch even once from the application of disinfectant and bandages. “We just need to apply some ice on those nasty bruises now. Yours too, Miruki.”

Teacher Isabella clapped once. “Now! Erik—do you want to be friends with Miruki?”

Without hesitation, he nodded. “Yes! I want Miruki to be my best-est friend in the world!”

At that declaration, Miruki found himself flushing in embarrassment. “A-and I want to be friends with you, too, I guess!”

Nodding sagely, Teacher Isabella smiled cheekily. “But aren’t you guys forgetting something…?”

“Right,” gulped Miruki. Taking a breath, he began. “Erik, I’m sorry. For throwing you out of the sandbox. And for destroying your sandcastles. And for—for punching you and everything.”

“Yeah—me, too. I’m sorry if I called you a girl…but you’re really kind of pretty. But you’re not a girl, so I’m sorry!” he added hastily when Miruki narrowed his eyes at ‘pretty’. “And I’m sorry for punching you first. And for taking your sandbox.”

“That’s…okay, I guess. I could share,” he replied softly.

At that, he was rewarded with the widest smile on Erik’s face which split his already popped lip further. “Nice! You’re not a bad person after all!” This reassurance made Miruki grin.

They shook hands and Erik passionately threw his arms around the other boy; this was returned by an awkward pat-on-the-back. Relieved, Teacher Isabella straightened. “Now, run along boys. Wait for us at the classroom, all right, while we get some ice.”

As they went off, Isabella Magunoria watched them. “Each year, there are more like us.”

Faris simply placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I guess it confirms our theories, right.”

She turned and pressed her forehead into the crook of the blonde’s shoulder. “But no one is meant to live in the past.”

“Remembering who you were isn’t the same as living it. I’ve always believed that we remember to avoid repetition.”

“Do you really believe that?” she said sharply and shuddered. With that, Faris Magunoria pulled his wife tighter against him.

“There are a lot of things we can’t answer, and aren’t meant to know. We were gone long before the war ended.”

Isabella sighed. “Erik…was talking about a ‘Humanity’s strongest’. From his description, he sounds like our midget. I’m glad…that he made friends after we—after.”

Tenderly, Faris pulled back to nibble on her small nose. “Let’s hope that he gains a few inches this time around.”

Chuckling, they walked back to the teacher’s lounge to fetch ice for their two students.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Miruki Schmidt came home and after explaining to his panicked mother that he got into a fight, told her that he made his first real friend. For the first time ever, he was excited with the prospect of sharing that sandbox with someone else. As he snuggled into his downy sheets, his last thought was of those familiar blue-green eyes and giant man-eating monsters.

A few hours later, he woke up in a silent scream to his very first Titan nightmare.

 


	2. The Blue-Eyed Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A genius is born, and more memories resurface.

The Haart family were simple and respected folk living in Old Ehrmich. Lourence Haart was a scholar, renowned for translating several Pre-Titan literature and history excavated by the Research Division of the Scouting Legion while Amanda Haart used to be a Literature professor in Three Walls University. Because they both married late in life, they were overcome with joy at the news of Amanda’s unexpected pregnancy. All precautions were taken, which turned out to be unnecessary; it was to be a normal pregnancy, and an equally normal delivery lasting only six hours beginning from labour to placental expulsion. Soon after drying and clamping of the cord, the squalling baby was placed atop her mother’s bosom. Amanda would forever remember that moment when she watched those precious chubby hands forming instinctive fists; that cathartic sensation of soft baby flesh still covered with lanugo after the excruciating and fast delivery; the joyful laugh she emitted as her baby struggled to open her heavy lids, paternally inherited blues meeting her own brown orbs for the very first time. Her husband stood there donning a sterile gown, arms over his wife’s head, and noted with pride that their baby’s crying had ceased upon seeing their faces.

She was named Amy Louie Haart—their tiny bundle of pride and joy.

In the beginning, Amy was just any ordinary baby. She learned to smile, to make cooing sounds; learned to roll and sit independently; learned to cruise and eventually stand on her own two feet. And yet Amanda knew there was something different about her; it was unsettling to see the infant pause in her playing to stare unblinkingly during conversations with her husband, as though intently listening to every word. Stranger still that she soon stopped cooing and opted for silence all together, not even crying when she was hungry or peed in her diapers; she would simply walk towards her to tug her skirt and look up with those solemn blue eyes. They feared the reason she stopped making sounds was because she was deaf but a consult and later examination proved otherwise. Observe her, the paediatrician had said, and so the elderly mother did, eventually settling into her only daughter’s quirks and silent disposition.

Amanda would never forget the one afternoon that changed her entire perspective. It happened one summer--Day 126, Year 1203 A.T (1) of the new calendar. She had just finished drying the clothes she had spent washing the whole morning, when she was startled by a small disembodied voice:

“Can you please read me a story when you’re done with the chores?”

The poor woman’s throat had almost jumped out of her. She looked around fearfully, wondering where the voice came from. She didn’t have any servants, and neighbours were impossible; the households in the respected and peaceful town of Ehrmich were at least 10 meters apart. She was beginning to fear the worst when she felt a familiar tug on her dress.

The young child looked up at her unwaveringly, a slight frown marring her beautiful features.

“Are you all right, Mama? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Amanda stood there frozen, fear trickling at the base of her spine. Amy was only 1.34 years old (2).

The pace of her learning was a whirlwind ever since. The occurrence had apparently not been a one-time glitch of development. Amy was quickly holding entire fluent conversations with her parents but remained reticent whenever they had visitors. She learned the alphabet in a day, and was soon seen flipping through her father’s fat books; whether she understood what she read or not was never clear to the Haarts. By two years old, she was already learning to write in a unique and surprisingly steady penmanship. When she was three years old, she was found by her folks standing on a footstool in front of Mr. Haart’s antique oak table, imitating the pre-Titan calligraphy she seemingly memorized from the museum they visited the previous day. By four years old, she was seen to frequent her father’s study, poring into volumes of Titan Era history. Once, she dared to ask why Amy was so fascinated with that gory era but Amy’s answer was simple and direct, those unwavering blue eyes unsettling her.

“Because I see them in my sleep, Mama.”

That was the last time Amanda ever brought up the subject again.

She also had a natural aptitude for tinkering, and was even able to fix the antique gramophone that they had bought years before in an auction. One day, Lourence searched the Net for IQ tests to perform on her. And confirmed what the two elderly parents feared.

Amy had an intelligence quotient of 210.

By then, the truth was unavoidable. It was clear to the Haarts that their daughter’s earlier reticence was simply her sponge-like way of absorbing her surroundings. This realization was staggering. Four decades earlier, the United Government of New Sina mandated that children below 7 years of age with an IQ more than 135 be “surrendered” to the main branches of scientific and military facilities for purposes of “special education and training”. This was dedicated to a noble cause, too. With the end of the Titan Wars 12 centuries earlier, the humans had ventured out, intent on exploring the lost civilizations. Those expeditions had been fruitful; they were able to recover the legacies of the old world which had been far more advanced than what they had been able to afford back then. From the ruins of libraries, they rediscovered histories of different countries and civilizations, literature and music, architecture, and far more important of all were the advances in science and technology which were quickly reabsorbed, rediscovered. Through the Scouting Legions efforts, enough material had been collected during the past century, enough to remap the world. In spite of that, there were still many parts of the world to venture and explore. Hence, New Sina, in true militaristic fashion in spite of its illusion of Democracy, passed out this law—it’s main objective was use of those brilliant and fertile minds for the “good of mankind”.

To parents with this predicament, it only meant that they would never see their children again.

And Amy Louei Haart was a genius.

The twisted ways of society deemed that this matter of pride was instead a matter of alarm.

 

* * *

 

Amy twisted her fingers behind her back uncertainly. The sea of faces before her—all forty-six in her rapid count—were obviously older. She wondered what her mother was thinking when she insisted that she attend school this year. She was far more comfortable in their own library, reading the books her father translated from the Old Languages. Somehow, after a long discussion she couldn’t help but overhear between her parents, her mother won this deal. Amy didn’t know how her father managed to modify all her public records but surely they were far from legal. When she had finally managed to warm towards the idea, she was able to convince herself that it was something interesting, novel even.

But how in the world was she going to convince these sceptical faces that she belonged in a class with them—that is, two years older—when her small stature was obviously not?

Her mother’s reminders just this morning echoed in her ears: _Be confident. Keep your back straight._

She straightened her posture and pressed her damp palms to her sides.

_Look them in the eye—let them see you as their equal._

It took most of her strength to steel her jaw, and to meet each interested stare point-blank instead of looking above their heads.

_And smile._

Somehow, she managed to summon up a watery version that she was sure wasn’t going to fool anyone.

When the teacher—the nametag showed “Rica Warren”— finished with the announcements, she motioned for her and Amy obediently stepped in the middle-front. A wave of murmurs swept through the class which immediately gave way to silence when Teacher Rica tapped her pointer impatiently on the board. She was a small woman, pale hair tied back in a half-pony; her grey spectacles which matched the almost silvery hue of her eyes made her look intimidating. But her voice was gentle and coaxing when she turned to Amy.

“Go ahead, introduce yourself.”

The little girl took one great breath for confidence, dainty shoulders rising in this movement. “G-good morning, classmates,” she gulped through the ball of yarn in her throat. Her own voice sounded tinny in her ears. “My name is Amy Louie Haart, 7 years old.”

Her hands were really damp now. She looked back at Teacher Rica who only nodded for her to continue. What else should she say? Now that she thought of it, she has never had much outside interaction. Most of her days had been spent tucked away at home, and she had been comfortable that way. How ever was she going to handle this?

Thoughts churning, she blurted. “I-I live with my mama and papa in Old Ehrmich and I’ve been home-schooled for the last two years. I don’t really have many playmates back home because there aren’t many kids in our block. But I love reading books and playing games and—and—” She was babbling and speaking too fast now. Unable to help herself, her fingers knotted in front of her, all her self-assurances fading into nervousness. “That’s all—so please take care of me!” Not knowing how to end her monologue, she made a clumsy curtsy. And finally hung her head, her face entirely too hot for comfort.

Amy knew how to curse—reading books and listening a lot to adults taught her that—but knew that it was bad so she opted instead for pinching her own thigh in self-reprimand. With that inane monologue, no one would surely believe that she was a 5-year old genius-level masquerading as a 7-year old.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She waited with bated breath for someone to just stand up and point fingers at her farce. But apart from the occasional murmurs, no one said a word.

Teacher Rica patted her head absently and directed her to an empty seat by the window.

Dejectedly, Amy headed there as instructed. The chair itself was too big for her and her desk was wide. Suddenly fond, her hands roamed the surface, feeling the tiny nicks and scratches on the wood. A staggering realization hit her.

_I’m really going to school. And this place…this table…is mine._

Amy smiled suddenly happy, and silently promised to thank her mother for this later.

 

* * *

 

 

It hadn’t taken too long for the teachers and the class to discover that Amy was different. Aside from the fact that she looked entirely too small and young as compared to the rest of the students, she was extraordinarily gifted. While her classmates were struggling with basic mathematics and the translated edition of Charlotte’s Web, she was already preoccupied with polynomials and the Victor Hugo’s works (also translated) and poring over Pre-Titan History. Sensing her potential, the faculty discussed the matter of accelerating her year level three ranks ahead with the Haarts but they declined much to Amy’s relief.  A compromise was reached however; she was going to be given special classes and lessons by teachers which meant staying at school for another hour. With her love for learning, she heartily agreed.

Her little fame was not something that everyone at The Shiganshina Memorial took kindly to.

Amy whimpered as she tried to stand. Her clothes were a mess now, and definitely stank, after being bodily thrown into the trash bin. Valiantly, she scrambled out and tried not to cry as the bullies—two girls from a higher batch—sniggered at her. This was the second time this week and Amy was certain that this would be a regular occurrence unless she put a stop to it.

“What is your problem?” she shouted in spite of her quavering voice.

The girl with pigtails—Amy was sure could remember her name if she tried hard but Bully #1 would have to suffice—kicked her down. “Quit acting like you don’t know.”

Raising her hands to protect her face from the continuous assault, she screamed, “I won’t know if you don’t tell me!”

“And here they said you’re smart,” scoffed Bully #2. “You don’t deserve all that special treatment you’re getting. You little teacher’s pet!”

Ah. Amy realization dawned on her. She rolled out of the way and shakily stood up in spite of weary legs. “I get it. You guys are jealous.”

“We’re not!” They shouted, fists clenching.

“Yes, you are,” she replied, suddenly calm, assessing. “And the fact that you’ve been hounding me for days just because I’m getting ‘special treatment’ only justifies that. Do you want special classes, too? I can arrange it for you if you insist.”

“Shut up, you freak!” They obviously looked shaken from Amy’s suddenly very adult tone. Amy realized dimly that this was probably the first time they’ve ever seen a younger kid—and they have no idea just how much younger—speak and act in such a manner. She decided to use this momentary surprise as leverage.

“Perhaps I am a freak—an anomaly; this is my category in your eyes, and perhaps these actions are a picture of humanity’s nature: desiring to destroy what they perceive as different. But do you know what I call people who prey on the weak for no just reason? I call them monsters. So, tell me, who now are the freaks?”

The two older girls just stared at her, as though still processing the gravity of her words. Suddenly cold, she moved her stiff legs. Just as she managed to go past them, one of them—Bully #2—grabbed her by the scruffs. Amy flinched instinctively, preparing herself for the blow that never came. When she opened her eyes, there were two boys from her class standing between her and the two bullies. Seeing that Bully #2 was on her rump, it was obvious that one of her protectors shoved the girl down.

“So you’re the poopheads who’ve been hurting our classmate!” growled the boy she remembered as Erik Hunter. She didn’t have to see his face to know that he was livid. “Momma told me that hurting girls are wrong, but I can make an expection here!”

“Exception,” automatically said the Asian boy.

“Shut up, Miru,” he rolled his eyes as though to say to the other _‘Give me a break’._ Amy could only giggle helplessly.

“But he’s right,” added Miruki Schmidt in a voice so cool it made Amy shiver. “We’ll let you free just this once, but do this shit again and I’ll make sure you regret it. Now. Scat.”

Not needing to be told twice, the two girls scampered off, leaving the three alone in the school backyard.

“Miruki,” said Erik, awestruck. “You said ‘shit’.”

“Whatever,” mumbled Miruki, annoyed.

The two boys turned to her. Amy had been in school for 96 days now and it was the first time she had ever talked to these two. Scratch that—it was the first time she had ever interacted with one of her classmates, period. She mostly kept to herself and minimized contact with others as much as possible, preferring conversation with adults. The other kids hardly kept up with her anyways, so why bother.

But these two—she admitted that she had already noticed them early on. They were always together, to the point that they were sometimes teased by their other classmates. She watched them from a far, interested in their dynamics but too shy to approach them. It was obvious that Erik was the more brash and hot-headed of the two while Miruki was the stoic one. Somehow, she was reminded of those recurrent dreams she had been having ever since she could remember; in her dreams, it was the Titan era, and she fought the war alongside two friends—a shaggy-haired boy with teal eyes who transformed into a Titan, and the quiet scarf-girl with assassin-like skills. Though the dreams were always strange and unavoidably bloody due to the man-eating humanoid giants, she wasn’t really disturbed; dreams are dreams, right?

With them this close however, she was struck again by the uncanny resemblance, and was conscious of just how small she was in comparison, what with them both being a foot taller than her.

“Um,” she began, suddenly unsure of herself. How does one even talk to kids their ‘own age’? “I-I’m sorry.”

Erik looked at her owlishly, those amazingly turquoise eyes confused. “Why?”

“I mean—I got you involved in this so—and you didn’t really have to…”

“Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault,” Miruki cut in immediately. There was a strange flash in his slanted eyes which betrayed a certain temper.

“That’s right! Momma would always tell me that, too. And bullying littler ones is bad!”

 Amy couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips. It was also obvious that Erik was growing up to be such a Mama’s boy. “All right. Thank you, then.”

“And you don’t have to dumb down on us, you know,” said Miruki. Catching her look, he shrugged. “We heard what you said to those two girls. We already know you’re crazy smart, and it’s no big deal.”

“Yup! Be proud of who and what you are, Momma always said.”

Perhaps it was the thousand-watt smile that Erik sent her way, or the solemn expression on Miruki’s face. For some reason, something inside her just ‘clicked’, as though an important puzzle piece had just found its rightful place. Throat tight and eyes suddenly blurry, Amy found herself crying for the first time in years. Though her tear-hazed vision, she saw Erik flap his hands in panic, obviously at loss over her crying, and she laughed in spite of herself. “Don’t worry, Erik—it’s a good cry.”

Erik nodded in spite of his still obvious confusion. Miruki sighed, pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbed at her tears with surprising gentleness. Once her face was dry, Erik grabbed her hand, happily pulling her along, Miruki trailing silently behind.

It has been 96 days since school started, and Amy just made her first real friends.

 

* * *

 

 

It did not take long for Amy to realize that Erik and Miruki had been having the same dreams. She discovered this just a few days after that memorable afternoon 171 days ago. It wasn’t hard to figure out; they were essentially the same faces she had been seeing since she was a smaller. Of course, there were many others—in the dream, she was a boy, and she had a grandfather who died (she woke up crying to that dream once); the boy’s name was Armin Arlert, and he had two best friends (they were adoptive siblings) who were always hell-bent on protecting him. In the dreams, she had seen Titans, remembered them in excruciating detail—seen them before she even started reading books about them. She used to wonder if it was all just a realistic dream, but the longer she spent with the two older boys, the more convinced that there was more to it than that.

In the Pre-Titan Era, there were various religions—especially Asian ones—who believed in the concept of reincarnation. In these days, religion which used to be a long-abandoned practice was gradually and cautiously gaining followers, especially after humanity was able to transcribe holy books from different sects and religions. She was, in particular, interested in Hinduism; like all other religions, they believed in _jiva_ or the soul, and according to those beliefs, the world was a dream-like flux, where the _jiva_ remains pure and eternal, abandoning (death) and regaining their bodies (life) in a never ending cycle. The next life would depend on _karma,_ which connotes good and bad deeds in the previous life.

Amy honestly didn’t know if the concept of God was real or a farce. But if reincarnation exists, then souls must exist. And if souls exist, the possibility of a God or even Gods was not far behind. But if there was a God, then why did He or They allow Humanity to be purged by Titans so many years ago? Pre-Titan history described nuclear warfares and world wars—why didn’t God stop that? Why must humans suffer? Was it _karma?_ After all, the first Titans were produced following experimentation with the Rhesus gene…

Perhaps it was because of this knowledge that Amy was able to accept her “dream” life from her reality. Whether or not it was real, those events were no longer her reality. She lived in the present, not in the past. But she wasn’t sure if the same applied to her two friends. She had seen them argue—not so discreetly unfortunately. Their sleep-deprived eyes were testimonial to especially bad nights. And yet she was determined to keep her silence.

But last night…was different. Last night changed her perspective. Just as her head had hit those downy pillows, visions of the past assaulted her, harsh in its unusual clarity...

_His comrades-at-arms, all dead._

_Eren lost his leg._

_All is lost._

_Paralyzed by fear. Floating in disembodied thoughts, watching helplessly as the bearded titan lifts him by the cloak. But I am him—inside him, I am him—so I am lifted as well. Even the fetid breath could not pull him out of catatonia._

_I’m going to die, he thought as he fell, surrendering to a future lost._

_I think I surrender too._

_But at the last minute, survival kicks in—he reaches out._

_We scream._

_Someone grabs his—our—hand. He is bodily heaved onto a tiled rooftop, and I fly as well. He turns and I look up._

_Eren. Bleeding Eren._

_“I’m not dying here…hell, no.”_

_Beautiful, valiant Eren._

_“Hey, Armin, you taught me about the outside world…”_

_Beautiful, bleeding, valiant Eren._

_So I—”_

_Inside the monster’s gaping mouth._

_“So I want to see it for my—”_

_He could only scream, weak arms reaching out, and I scream with him as well, tears spilling onto ruddy cheeks. “Eren! QUICK!”_

_CHOMP!_

_A comical sound. He is filled with despair, and I choose to feel._

“Amy?” She shook her head from those memories; that morning, she had woken up thrashing into her pillows. She turned and smiled at those reassuring turquoise eyes.

“Yes, Erik?”

“Were you daydreaming again?” he pouted, and the coldness in her heart thawed. “Cause Miru already went ahead. Said he’s gonna catch a shut-eye.”

“Ah. Not really, I—”

But Erik’s palmed her face, looking at her keenly. “Your face is wet. You’re crying.”

Embarrassed and deeply unaware that she had been crying at all, she tried to pull away. But Erik stubbornly hugged her, alternatively patting her blonde head. “I asked Mama what I should do when girls cry—and she said a hug would be good. Here’s from me to you, okay?” At that, Amy found herself sobbing uncontrollably, bewildered and confused with the experiences of a different life in a harsh past.

Pulling back, she shakily gripped his right hand, pressing her damp face onto those fingers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. You’re my best friend.”

Amy gasped, and looked up at him. It was Eren’s voice she heard but Erik’s face only looked at him with a confused expression.

“What are you sorry about?”

“N-nothing,” she released him and stood up. “I need to wash my face a bit. Go ahead to the cafeteria, okay?”

Erik stared at her then smiled widely. “All right. I’ll get you and Miruki some snacks, too.”

Left alone, she stared in space, acknowledging that the past would not find comfort in silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Miruki lay under the tree, his school book shielding his face from the heat and glare of the sun. Every night, he had disjointed dreams of humanoid monsters that ate people, of people and friends and loved ones dying. It was so disconcertingly realistic that sometimes, he would wake up confused, unsure which was fantasy or reality. In the dreams he was a girl—a half-Asian girl named Mikasa Ackerman, skin porcelain white, contrasting deeply with her pitch black hair, chin tucked under a thick red scarf. He—she—followed and protected this one boy—a reckless brat with blue-green eyes—everywhere, like an annoying mother-hen. It was easier to think of her as a separate being. He didn’t even know why she did that, but Mikasa was apparently devoted to this boy, even following him to the Scouting Legion. Just as Erik had told him before, Mikasa was crazy strong and skilful, with a set of abs that even he envied. Thankfully, not all of the dreams were about fighting—there were times when he—she, dang it—was just seated there with Eren and another smaller boy with blonde hair and striking blue eyes.

Let’s go to the ocean someday, the boy named Armin had said. And sometimes, Miruki would feel Mikasa wince at these words, knowing that the blonde boy was feeding dangerous fantasies into his adoptive brother’s head. But didn’t she, albeit grudgingly, eat up those words—and the promise of it, too?

Frankly, Miruki didn’t know what think about those dreams, refused to think what those dreams meant, especially since he started having them since he met Erik two years ago. He wanted to think that it was Erik’s constant babbling that got those things in his head, but there were times when he wasn’t so sure anymore. Because he had snapped more than once at Erik’s infatuation with those dreams, the boy had seemingly gotten the message and stopped talking about it all together. But the dreams didn’t stop for him, and neither did it stop for Erik; it was apparent from the deep bags and occasional haunted expression in those magnificent eyes. It disturbed him so much that he even began researching books and the Net regarding those themes. He came up with an unbelievable and fantastic conclusion:

Reincarnation…Past lives. They had experienced the time of the Titan Era. Wouldn’t this explain why he felt an affinity for Erik and why he dreamed those dreams too? Wouldn’t it explain why he would look at Erik and sometimes see the wild and world-weary face of Eren Jaeger? Could that be the reason why he too felt too old for his age, because he had been alive before?

What a load of crap.

The book covering his face was pulled away and he groaned at the assault of the afternoon sunlight. Blinking twice, he glared at a pair blue eyes, crinkled in silent mirth.

Wouldn’t that also explain why he saw the calculating Armin in this girl’s youthful face?

“Books aren’t meant to be used this way, you know,” chastised Amy lightly.

“In my world, they are…Mom,” he deadpanned, snatching the book back. Was this how Eren felt when Mikasa babied him?

Amy didn’t seem offended; instead, she seated herself beside him. He noticed that she had a small hard-bound book in her lap. When she saw him squint at the title, she held it up for him to see better: _Erwin Smith: A Reinterpretation of the New World’s Greatest Leaders._

Erwin Smith. The name was vaguely familiar in his head, and he wondered if he had ‘met’ that person in the dreams, too. Not that he believed in the past-life theory. Not really.

“Did you finish that other book already?” he said, curiously appraising her.

She nodded at him. “The Titan Era is really fascinating.”

“It’s weird that people call that time ‘Titan Era’. It’s not like the Titans were completely eradicated, you know, so it’s still ‘Titan Era’ now.”

“Yes! Gosh! I was thinking the same thing, too!” she said excitedly. And it was true. Though their continent had been basically Titan-free for many centuries now, the same wasn’t true for the other continents. That was why the Recon Corps, now the biggest branch in the military, still had expeditions—this time, overseas via ships and aircrafts, intent on their dramatic Mission/Vision “to cleanse the present world of Titans” or something to that effect. Dreamily, she added. “When I’m old enough, I want to explore the world, too.”

“Hm. Maybe you should join the Military. The minimum age of application is 13 years old, you know. By that time, we’ve already graduated elementary school.” A clouded expression spread on her small face. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said after sometime, smiling wanly. “Just...thinking. I don’t think my parents would agree to me joining the military. They’re pretty old, see. My mom had me when she was 43 years old, and dad is 8 years older than her. Who’d take care of them with me gone?”

Miruki hummed, still scrutinizing her. How long had they been friends now? 170—maybe 180 days tops? Though he didn’t doubt her reasoning, there were times such as these when he wondered if she was being entirely truthful with them. For instance, she once told them that she was born on the time of the Great Drought; when he pointed out that the famine happened five years ago, she only laughed and changed the subject. He wondered if she really was who she said she was. If Amy was indeed born in the Great Drought, then that would make her five years old when she first enrolled—and 6 years old now since she just celebrated her birthday 15 days ago. He never brought this up, understanding the implications of this matter.

Because if she was truly a genius level, that meant Amy had no business being in Shiganshina Memorial at all.

A hand waved in front of him, and Miruki was pulled from his inner monologue. “Hey—you spaced out on me.”

“Sorry,” he lied. “Bad sleep last night.”

“Every night seems to be a ‘bad’ night for you,” Amy replied softly.

“I know right,” looking around, he frowned. “Where’s Ere—Erik?”

“He went to the cafeteria—he wanted to buy some snacks before break’s over.”

“All right,” he stared at her for a while, wondering over her sudden moodiness. Shrugging, he laid down again, pulling his arm over his lids. Just as he was starting to doze off, Amy’s melodic voice brought him back.

“Hey, Miru.”

“Hnn?”

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

He waited for her to elaborate. And found himself sitting up at her next words:

“I…have those dreams, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) They use a new calendar system wherein they no longer use months and weeks; only days and years. Day 127 here would correspond to May 27. Also, A.T. is After Titan, so 1203 A.T. is 1203 years After the Titan Era. The timeline would expounded in later chapters.  
> (2) 1.34 years old is 1 year and 5 months. 
> 
> Feedback is love.


	3. Second Lives and Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three friends resolve to actively remember. 
> 
> And somewhere in Sina, a monster dreams of blue-eyed goddesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amsodizzy. I will edit this chapter later. 
> 
> Because of this chapter, I added "Underage" to the rating. I hope you don't mind.
> 
> By the way, thank you, thank you for all the kudos and bookmarks. *Happiness*

 

Miruki rolled his eyes. The unruly haired boy walking between him and Amy was basically prancing on his heels. “You’re starting to annoy me, Hunter.”

“I’m just excited! Aren’t you excited, Miru?” Erik pumped both of his arms, unable to contain his happiness.

“I am sure Miruki’s just as excited, Erik,” replied Amy with a smile. “He’s just better at hiding it.”

“Whatever.”

Erik couldn’t help but just smile toothily, hurting his cheeks. For two whole years, they have been persuading their respective parents to allow them to go camping. Miruki’s and Erik’s were the easiest to convince, open as they were to the idea of an adventure for the boys. Amy’s smiling and kind-hearted parents proved to be the most challenging. It was not proper, they reasoned, for a young girl to camp alone with two males, and it didn’t matter that they were just kids. While Miruki simply acceded, understanding that there were reasons other than her being a girl, Erik pouted for several days after. And plotted in his own small and childish way.

After a lot of fruitless begging and pleading and shameless pestering, Erik finally stopped asking. Just when the other two thought it was the end of the discussion, he began accompanying an exasperated Amy back to her home, not caring that it was an hour’s bus ride away to the old country home. Except on days when Carol Hunter expected Erik to be home early, this became a daily ritual. And though Amy liked spending time with her older friends, she was at a wit’s end.

“You’re so stubborn!” she complained once while they lunched at their usual spot under a large oak tree. “It isn’t necessary. I can go home on my own, you know! Come on, help me out here, Miruki!”

The Asian boy only shrugged, biting into his _onigiri_. “Do what you want.”

“You’re not helping!”

“But Amy,” interrupted in between mouthfuls of his second ham-and-lettuce sandwich; he never seemed to get fat in spite of his natural gluttony. “How can your parents trust me if they don’t see me? Mama always said that the simplest way to earn someone’s trust is being there. So I’m being there.”

“It’s too much work! And what does Auntie have to say about you being so late in going home, huh? Do you want her to get angry with me?”

“It’s not that late, you know. And I did ask Mama if she was okay with it, and she said it was okay. So she's not angry at all.”

Amused at the bickering between the two, Miruki smiled. “Hmm. I think Mama Hunter has a point there.”

“Oh no, not you, too, Miru!” groaned Amy.

That afternoon, the ritual was modified by adding a stoic Miruki on top of a grinning Erik, and naturally Amy was furious. Soon enough, though, she simply gave up, recognizing that nothing would change her friends’ minds once they had decided on something. That happened a year ago. Merely 32 days after this custom, they had their first victory when the Haarts invited the two boys inside for dinner. Soon enough, even their parents were invited every weekend for barbecue; unfortunately though, Miruki’s stepfather and Erik’s own dad weren’t able to come to each of these family activities, their work not permitting them to leisure.

Forty six days ago, they had their first overnight at Erik’s home. And now, they were going to have their first camping. It didn’t matter that they would be putting their tents and sleeping bags on the small wilderness just behind the Haart’s estate. The three of them were going camping for 3 nights and 2 days, without adult supervision (though Mr. Haart would be coming every morning to check up on them) for the very first time, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

 

In the past two years, all three of them grew. Miruki, being incredibly active in sports as well as excellent in academics, had grown fit with the beginnings of muscle replacing the baby fat. He had also grown taller, and a lot of girls and boys were already fawning over his "mysterious air" and "steely greys". Amy and Erik would both snicker at these comments; Miruki was quite simply a snob, and there was nothing mysterious about it at all. Erik on the other hand was not really fond of competitive sports, preferring self-defense courses offered like Krav Maga and Judo. Though he was not quite as good as Miruki, who was also in these same clubs, Erik still made it to the top of the roster. The same was true for his academics, too; he didn't have Amy's natural genius or Miruki's proficiency, but what he lacked in talent, he made up for in sheer effort, determined as he was not to be left behind. He wasn't quite as tall as Miruki yet, much to his eternal dismay, but Amy was convinced that he would gain them in puberty. As for Amy herself, she was still top of the class, still joining debate clubs, still expanding on her love of history and literature, both pre- and post-Titan era, though it was the former she preferred. Her favorite sport, though she wondered if it could be ever called that, was chess. And she smiled as she bulldozed every adult and senior who ever dared test her skills.

Amy smiled wistfully as they walked. Ever since she told the other two that she had been having the same dreams, their bond had grown stronger. Erik was unsurprisingly receptive of the whole “reincarnation” thing while Miruki had doubts, as expected. Neither could dispute the reality that they all had the same dreams though, and that in those dreams they were friends, and it all happened sometime in the Titan Era. Furthermore, Amy realized that their dreams were becoming clearer and more fluid instead of the random snapshots each was accustomed to. She wondered, then, if the catalyst was their meeting.It was 1 year and 99 days ago when she brought the idea up to the two, and they stared at her, listening intently.

_“I can’t really explain it but…it’s probably like how those radio frequencies work, right?” she had ended, babbling excitedly._

_“I…don’t really understand,” said Erik, rubbing his head. “But I kind of get it.”_

_“Make up your mind, Erik,” scoffed Miruki. “Either you get it or you don’t.”_

_Turquoise eyes shot an irritated look at grey slanted ones. “Fine. I can’t really explain but I kind of get what she means.”_

_“Miruki?”_

_The boy had sighed. “Yeah. I get it. I don’t really get about radio frequencies and all—that’s your field—but I do know that us being together is making the dreams clearer.”_

_“What if we sleep together…in one place! What do you think we’ll see?”_

_While Erik looked at the small blonde with what seemed like awe, Miruki stared at her with growing annoyance. They spoke at the same time:_

_“That’s a great idea!”_

_“What does it matter?”_

_The other two looked at the Asian boy and he shrugged. “Amy—haven’t you seen enough? I mean, we’ve already provided you information about how far our dreams went. We even created a timeline,” he added, pointing at her tablet. “I know it’s interesting and all that but what is the point of us remembering these things?”_

_“Well, I want to know how we saved the world!” declared Erik, eyes shining._

_“Of course that’s all that matters to you, you simpleton,” Miruki shook his head disbelievingly. “What makes you think we were the ones that ‘saved the world’ huh? What makes you think we were even alive to see that happen, huh?” In spite of his cool voice, his hands shook. He had stood up, wanting to go back to the school building as soon as possible. He wanted nothing more than to get away, to not listen to these things. He didn’t want to see himself die. But more than that, he didn’t think he could handle seeing his two closest friends die._

_Small hands grabbed his own and he stilled, fighting the despicable desire to tear his own hand away. “Please, Miru, listen.” With the resigned sigh, the not-so foreign sensation of despair that always clawed at his heart every night dissipated. “I won’t lie—I am curious. I want to know what happened—”_

_“You have the history books for that!”_

_“But this is different!” she shook her head, pigtails flying. “We were actually there. And there’s only so much history books will tell you. Books will speak only of facts, of certain people and events. They won’t ever say the whole story—the real story. They won’t tell you about friendships made, or people who died too early. They won’t tell us what really mattered to us!”_

_Already, he could hear the frustration shaking his friend’s impassioned tones. It was during moments like these that he was reminded that in spite of her not-so secret genius, Amy was truly a girl—a girl two years their junior at that. Erik, of course, hadn’t figured that out yet but he saw how the other boy protected her instinctively. Amy continued softly. “Miru, I’m sure you also read your dad’s books. There was nothing about a Titan shifter helping humanity’s cause.”_

_At that Miruki flinched. “Maybe we aren’t looking hard enough.”_

_“There wasn’t. I did read about you—the Captain of the Royal Guard, Mikasa Ackerman.”_

_“And I read about you, too…Your Majesty.”_

_It was Amy’s turn to flinch. “Neither of us got that far in the dreams yet.”_

_“Can I say something?” The two went very still, having forgotten Erik’s presence. The whole time, Erik remained seated on the grass. His face was entirely serious today, and there was a familiar smoldering expression which made his turquoise eyes brighter. “Miruki—I know you think it’s probably better off not knowing. But you know what I think? I think that’s stupid. Because if we’re dreaming all of it, then that means we have to remember—that means it’s important. Even if it hurts. Even if I have to see everyone I knew back then die, I’ll see it through. Because I have to know.”_

_A foreboding northern wind blew, taking scattered leaves in flight. Clouds dimmed the sky overhead. Miruki shuddered as Erik’s face seemed to overlap with Eren’s. Miruki gritted his teeth. “Even if you see yourself die?”_

_Steeling his jaw, the boy nodded once. “Even if I see myself die.”_

Guiltily, Amy nibbled her lower lip in habit. Her theory appeared to be correct. That time they had a sleepover at Erik’s house, all three simultaneously saw Wall Maria’s fall in Shiganshina. Even as she had woken up, the terror of seeing the Colossal Titan peaking over the 50 meter walls gripped her throat. When Erik and even the normally passive Miruki had woken up an hour later, crying for their mothers, the only thing Amy could do was hold them close to her.  Later, she learned that this was the second time Erik dreamed that particular sequence; this time though, it was more detailed and connected, and added that there was a faceless man named “Hannes” who saved them.

Amy didn’t know how to tell him that Hannes had been reborn as Harry Hunter, Carol’s husband and Erik’s father in this time. From Miruki’s knowing expression then, she was sure that the other boy had recognized him too.

As they reached their camping site, Amy found herself wondering what they would be seeing on the next couple of nights. And found herself questioning whether it was even a good idea at all.

 

* * *

 

At the camping site, Erik happily threw down his heavy camping bag, eager to explore the area. It was a quiet place, with a few trees scattered around and, from what Amy had told them before, there was a small brook nearby, too. This forest was part of the land that the Haarts had inherited from their forefathers; the main house was only 300 meters away, and if they ever ran into trouble, all they had to do was make a run for it. Not that there should be any; he was a bit disappointed to learn that there were no wild animals or wolves roaming, but he was satisfied nonetheless.

With a toothy grin, Erik pulled out a brand-new hunting knife (he practically begged and begged Carol to buy it for him until she acquiesced). “I am going to go hunting!”

“Do you even know how to hunt, Erik?” asked Miruki.

“O-of course!” he boasted, not really knowing how. “I saw it on TV! And I read survival guide books, too.”

“Ehh, I didn’t know you even read books.”

“Shut up, Miru—I swear, sometimes, you talk like that horse-face,” he added, remembering one particular kid in his dream. That guy was a friend, in spite of his antagonism—a friend and a natural enemy. A frienemy? He frowned. What was his name again?

Miruki rolled his eyes. “Please, don’t compare me to Jean.”

“Boys, play nice.”

“Yes, mom!” they chorused and giggled when the flushed Amy rounded on them, hands planted at her waist.

They frolicked for some more before settling down. Since the sun was already setting, Erik accompanied Amy in looking for dried wood. All three of them went to the brook, with the two boys making a competition out of fish catching. They paid no heed to Amy reminding them that they had marshmallows and meat rolls in their pack, too engrossed in their manly escapades. Back at the camping site, Miruki taught an awed Erik how to build a fire by rubbing two stones (he used to camp a lot with Papa Schmidt, he explained). By the time the moon was out, they were huddled in front of the small fire, covered in individual blankets. After that, each of them called their respective homes to inform them that they were settling well and were about to have dinner. They ate the fish that Erik burnt and the ham that Miruki perfectly toasted (much to Erik’s dismay). They later feasted on the smores and hot chocolate Amy made for dessert.

“This is really fun, guys!” said Erik, a happy glow on his boyish face.

“I guess it’s all right,” acceded Miruki with a rare smile. Amy simply hummed and lay back on the grass with a small thump. “You’ll get your clothes dirty, Amy.”

“It’s all right,” she sighed. “Look at the stars—beautiful.”

Erik and Miruki mimicked her movement and soon all three were lying side by side, Amy at the middle while pointing out constellations she read about.

“See there—that’s the Big Dipper,” she traced with her forefinger. “But it’s part of a bigger constellation called Ursa Major. It means Big Bear.”

Eren tried to follow Amy’s finger and frowned. “I don’t see how that could be a bear.”

“Well, if you look hard enough and use your imagination, you’ll see that those are the feet,” she traced again. “And that’s the head and the tail.”

“Hmph. Looks more like a Big Rat to me.”

“Hahaha! You’re right, Miru!” Erik giggled, readily seeing how it could look more like a rat. “But why do they call it Big Bear? Is there a Small Bear?”

“Ah, yeah—but I don’t think we can see it from here.”

Erik yawned, the full warmth of his tummy finally getting in his head. “Tell me a story, Amy.”

“What are you—five?”

Erik heard a yelp, and was certain that was the sound of Amy pinching Miruki. “Miruki, don’t you want to hear a story, too?”

“…Whatever.”

As though deciding that this was enough permission to continue, Amy cleared her throat and began. “According to the Roman myths—”

“What are the Romans?”

“Ah—they’re an empire that lived thousands and thousands of years ago.”

“Really? What were they like?” asked Erik, suddenly curious.

“Erik. I thought we’re gonna listen to Amy’s story?”

“Ah, right,” he said shyly. “Go on.”

“All right…let’s just say, once upon a time…”

“Seriously? ‘Once upon a time?’”

“Miru.”

Miruki grunted and Amy rolled her eyes. “So…there was once this beautiful nymph named Callisto—a nymph is a mythical creature of nature,” she added hastily before anyone could interrupt. “Like an elf or fairy, I think. Anyways. She was a beautiful nymph. And there was this god named Zeus who fell in love with her, and they had a baby. Unfortunately, though. Zeus was already married—”

“W-wait! What? But that’s bad! That’s—what do you call it—adelteny? Adoletry?”

“Adultery, Erik.”

“Yeah!” Erik bobbed his head vigorously, unbelievably scandalized by the idea. He heard of people cheating on their partners before, but he still could not grasp why anyone would ever want to do something like that to someone they loved.

“Well…I don’t think Zeus and his wife really loved each other, Erik,” Amy added softly. She didn’t bother to add that Zeus was playboy god who had a myriad of lovers and children in the myths.

“But—”

“Erik…if you keep interrupting Amy, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“But you interrupted earlier, too!”

With an insufferable sigh, Miruki replied. “All right, so I won’t do it again. But you gotta stop interrupting, too.”

Erik mumbled an apology and Amy continued serenely. “Anyways, Zeus’ wife found out. And with her magic, she turned Callisto into a bear. Many, many years later, Callisto and Zeus son, Arcas, became a renowned hunter, and ventured out to slay the Great Bear. One day, he found her, and tried to kill her.”

“Oh no! But she’s her mama!” cried Erik, eyes suddenly stinging with tears.

“Don’t worry, Erik,” said Miruki sympathetically. “It’s just a story, so I’m sure there’s a happy ending.”

“In a way, I guess it is,” said Amy. “Because just when Arcas was about to kill the Great Bear, Zeus used his magic and brought the two of them into the sky—as stars. Callisto became the Great Bear—Ursa Major—while Arcas became the Little Bear—Ursa Minor.”

Silence befell the three.

“So—so,” said Erik, a frown evident from his voice. “It’s not a happy ending.”

“They didn’t kill each other.”

“But they turned into stars, Miruki! Isn’t that like saying they died, and turned into something else?”

Amy blinked, stunned that somehow, the story somewhat mirrored how they have somehow died and reborn, thousands of years later.

“Isn’t that a good thing,” said Miruki softly. “Now…they have a second chance.”

_We have a second chance._

Somehow, Erik understood what Miruki really meant to say. In a sudden fit of emotion, he rolled over and hugged the two fiercely.

“I—I guess I understand,” said Miruki distantly. “Most of us died—so that future could live.”

“We are the future now,” said Amy clinging back just as fiercely. Erik dared not let go, wondering how many others remembered and shared these revelations. Where was Jean, Connie, Sasha—the rest of the 104th? Where was Irwin and the rest of the Survey Corps? Where was Humanity's Strongest and his crew? Who else had come back? Did everyone else come back?

“I want to find everyone,” he confessed in a small voice. “And—and I want to travel the world. I want to seek out other continents, and continue where I left off…though I’m not really sure where and when I left off you know. I think I—I died before the two of you did.”

The other two remained silent, afraid to acknowledge the truth of his words. It didn’t matter that it happened in the past; death, no matter how distant, was still death—a life lost. The death of a friend is always bitter and painful.

“Ere—Erik. You know I’ll go with you wherever you go,” said Miruki, echoing the words of his past self. “Whatever you decide on, I will follow.”

“Th-thanks, Miruki.”

Amy hummed softly. "I want to travel, too. Let's go see the ocean together someday."

"That's far away, you know," said Miruki, closing his eyes. "And the travel fare is really expensive."

"Let's ask our mamas then..."

"It's good to have a mama..."

"And papas..."

"Un."

They fell silent again, and Erik felt his eyes droop. But as his consciousness slipped away, just before the dreams of yesterday claimed him, soft-spoken and heartfelt words parted from his small lips.

“I’m just so happy to be alive again.”

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in a dark dungeon deep in Sina, a monster slept. A monster wrapped in the hardest stone. Trapped inside, her cells did not age, kept in its latent phase. The only light in the dungeon was from a small circular window in the high, dank ceiling. She—for it was a she—passed her time dreaming, remembering, songs of yesterday repeating, rewinding in her head.

_My love is dead._

_And I am alone._

_And I live._

_Live only for the day_

_To cherish those lips once more._

Even asleep, she was aware of time’s passing. It was impossible to ignore it. A long—long—time ago, she had roamed outside the walls, mindless and feral, bearing a thirst that not even hundreds of human flesh could not quench. In retrospect, she wondered—knew—that it was not humanity’s meat she was searching for but the tendrils of humanity itself. A scorching envy that literally devoured those souls. A desire for more than her minimal existence. She could not remember what she was before it all started. All she knew was that for sixty years she wandered, scaling the exterior of those giant walls until she came upon the answer—four beings, just foals themselves. She grabbed one of them…and stumbled back to humanity.

The meagre years she lived after held more meaning than the seemingly endless sixty.

But those sixty years were nothing more than a nap compared to the thousand or so spent in the limbo she furnished. Hibernation spent in a cage wrought from diamond and adamite. She would not die, she refused to. So long as she held onto that promise—the promise of sweet lips and crystalline eyes.

Not that she remained there the entire time. The first time she awoke, it had barely been a hundred years since her lover’s passing. The rats had kept her company; she grabbed one, her fangs tearing onto struggling flesh. She was hungry but it did not sate her. Wearily, she had climbed out from the deep dungeons that kept her. Stared at the setting sun for a long time.

_My love is dead, and I am alone._

_Why must I hold onto your promise?_

With a deep, deep sigh, the woman—seemingly young in spite of the years—turned her back from the world and descended back to her cave. Closed her eyes and willed for diamonds to take her.

The next time was four hundred years later. Though she did not open her eyes, she knew she was not alone. There was someone out there—a young boy—squatted in front of her sanctuary. Hunger threatened to push her into transformation but she defied this desire; this youngling was her lover’s descendant. She would not touch this boy.

She listened with half-a-mind to his childish babbles. He came every day until the day he did not. The family must have discovered his sneaking and forbade it; her existence, after all, was a secret—a legend almost—passed on from generation to generation in hushed tones. Again, she fell back into her mind where time was an arbitrary thing, and years held no meaning. Memories of old friends and comrades drifted in an endless montage. And the face of a beautiful young goddess, crystalline blue eyes bright and defiant, that small mouth as compliant as her lithe flesh pressed against hers. She wanted nothing more than to take her, devour and worship her, keep her. But it was impossible in real life; she could only have her in her mind now.

_My love is dead, and I am alone._

_But you are always there._

_Always, always, always…_

Tired of the fruitless existence, she opened her eyes for the third time. Another three hundred years had passed. This time, there was no hunger; only acceptance, as rock dissolved around her. It was night when she came out, and the moon smiled in the cloudless night. She took a deep cleansing breath, and understood immediately that this world had already changed so much since she woke last. For one thing, she spied high rise buildings in the distance which were not there before. Thankfully, the Reiss Manor remained untouched in spite of the advancements. Her crypt was hidden in the middle of a large maze of green shrubbery—frankly, a waste of resources in spite of its aesthetic quality.

For four days and three nights, she travelled on foot, learning about this new world. She managed to steal clothes and food as she went, occasionally fed on a few human’s meagre hospitality. There were no more titans, she learned. They have been eradicated in this continent at least. She understood that the rest of the world was not quite as free.

At last she reached her destination. She took off her shoes and curled her toes into sand. The wind blew strongly, and the smell of salt was potent. The sun was romantically setting in the horizon, its dying rays brightening the distant waves. Padding closer, frothy water, warm and cool at the same time, lapped at her feet. For a full minute, she stared at the endless body of water wishing her lover could share this sight. And understood Armin’s deep fascination for the ocean.

_I love you then, and love you still._

_A love as vast as this ocean._

_A love worth a millennium and more._

As the woman closed her eyes and breathed in the cool salty air, memories centuries old assaulted her.

_“Ymir.” Her eyes were so blue, so deep, so full of love it hurt her. Her body, even her voice, was failing her, but she had to speak for there was no more time left. “This shell may be gone…but I will not really die. So live…for me. Wait…for me. This time, I will be the one to leave. Grieve if you must, but do not die. I forbid it.”_

_Ymir chuckled bitterly. They were in the Queen’s room, the large bed engulfing their bodies. The frail blonde woman was on her lap, a thick blanket bundling her, almost like a babe’s. She shivered in spite of it, and Ymir could only curse and hold her tighter against her._

_“You are selfish as always. We only live once. The only thing you can do is try to live longer. I will not give you permission to die.”_

_Her chapped lips curled into a sad, sad smile. “You know that’s not true.”_

_Angry tears fell from her Ymir’s brown eyes. She swooped down to claim her mouth, relentless yet cautious. It was not enough but her young lover was already tired from this. She could feel her heart ripping from her chest. It was far more devastating than any physical pain. It was time, and they both knew it. “No! No…no, no. Please. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Historia. I can’t do this. I can’t—”_

_“You can, my love.” The hand that cupped her wet cheek was cold and small, yet unwavering. “You can. I will live again, so wait. I will remember you.”_

_“You’re spinning fairy tales again,” Ymir sobbed, pulling her head close to her chest. “They’re all gone, Historia. I can’t lose you—you’re the only one I can’t lose.”_

_“I’ll come back...so promise me,” her eyes were turning glassy._

_“All right, I—I promise. Just—just shut up, and don’t say stupid—hey. Historia. HISTORIA!”_

The woman named Ymir wrenched herself from the memory, gasping then screaming to the setting sun, hot tears spilling as she threw her head from side to side. She fell onto her knees, tearing wildly at her hair in pure anguish and torment. All those emotions she had locked deep within her were spilling in her, around her, all over. The present was arbitrary. Today was yesterday and she was lost in it.

Historia lay cold, lifeless in her arms once more and she could only grieve. The ocean swallowed her bitter cries until her head fell onto the sand, spent.

Five days later, she was back in the dungeons, grateful for the all-consuming darkness of the abyss. For a long time, she stood under the moonlight streaming from that small overhead circular opening, cursing her life, cursing her existence. She wanted to die, if only death meant being with her again. But she had a promise to keep—whether it was an empty one or not, she no longer gave a damn. For her Historia Reiss, she would do anything. And if it was her last desire for her to live, then so be it. This was her last thought before diamonds frosted around her once more and she slept, truly, for the first time, in a long time.

_My love is dead._

_You are gone._

_I suffer and live, not truly alive._

Even in the deepest slumber, she was aware of time passing. An internal clock seemed to remind her of hours turning into a day and, since there were no more “weeks” or “months” in the human calendar, felt the days slip into a year. More years pass. Another century comes. More years. Then another. Yet Ymir slept on, and refused to open her eyes, content in her repose since she allowed death to be refused for her. In sleep, she dreamed of happier days, with people he became friends with. Young men and women who died for freedom, sacrificing life and limbs to live. Dreamed again and again and again of crystalline eyes as vast and as deep as that ocean…

_“Ymir.”_

…I know that voice, she thought. A hallucination concocted by her mind, driven to insanity, perhaps. But she couldn’t help yearning to hear it again. If only it were real…

_“Wake up, love.”_

There was no mistaking it now. That voice…

…was the voice of a goddess.

Her goddess.

Someone was touching her diamond cocoon. Her eyes snapped open, hopeful yet afraid. The afternoon sun streamed from the overhead window and she was grateful for its existence. Even through the rough cuts of crystal, the image of those large blue eyes set on a heart-shaped face burned in her retinas. The diamond cracked open, dissolving to dust and steam and smoke. Yet she remained frozen in place, not daring to move lest the vision be wretched from her.

The small delicate hand of a child reached out but she was too small to reach her face. Compliantly, Ymir bent on one knee so that they were eye to eye now. She did not look away even as the small palm cupped her cheek, mimicking a movement worth a thousand years old. The body was young—no more than a decade old. But those shining bright eyes looking back at her were ancient, timeless even, as though it had seen through past and present and future. Still speechless, Ymir traced the smooth skin of her face with a single shaking finger—it was no illusion. More boldly now, she raised her hand to comb her fingers through the child’s hair. It was softer than she had remembered. The golden lustre she was so fond of before had gone, and now it was simply…

“White,” Ymir murmured softly, marvelling at the contrast between her natural brown tones and silky snow white tresses. Her skin, too, was incredibly white, pale. And yet she knew—this was her. It could only be her. The roar of a thousand questions ebbed as soon as it came. For now, she was here, and that was all that mattered. The name slipped her mouth, coated with absolute love and reverence. “Historia.”

_My love has come back to me_

_And I learn to live again_

The child closed the gap between their faces and Ymir worshipped the small deity with her lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ymir is alive. And Historia returns. And yes, you did not misread that. Miruki (Mikasa) did call Amy (Armin) "Your Majesty"...and you all know what that means. Ha. Ha. Ha. Plot, plot, plot. 
> 
> And again, if anyone knows how you dedicate a fic to someone, please teach me. (hopeless in computer tech>>me). As I've said in a previous chapter, I've been meaning to gift this story to without_mission, who wrote the fantastic "To You 2000 years From Now." If you haven't read that, I suggest you check that. Fantastic story. 
> 
> Comments, suggestions, insights, etc. are wonderful. :)


	4. First Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our trio are faced with their "firsts", and realization is not always pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! *happy dance*

“Hello, kids. Did you sleep well last night?”

Amy jolted. She had been too engrossed typing and had not noticed her father’s appearance. Looking up at the kind-faced man before her, she was gripped by a sense of nostalgia, wondering why she never recognized him before. Then again, in the dreams, this man was much older, stockier, had a thick white mane and a thicker beard and moustache. Wordlessly, she abandoned her gadgets on the dewy grass and embraced her father midriff with such a force that he took a step back. As the man tenderly patted her head, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and she sniffed.

“What—this little sunshine missed me this much?” He teased.

“Stop teasing me, papa!”

“All right, all right. I just came to check up on you, though.” He asked a few more questions about their night which Amy answered in between sniffs. Looking around, he saw the other two bundled in their respective blankets. “And you slept out here, eh? Didn't use your sleeping bags? You might catch a cold."

"We have blankets...and it's okay. It wasn't that cold last night."

"Hmm. The boys are still asleep?”

“It’s still 0710H, papa. I tried waking them up earlier but they kept saying ‘5 more minutes’ that I gave up.”

“Is that so,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, I won’t wake them up then. You probably slept late. By the way, the weather forecast was saying something about rainy weather, possibly this afternoon or tonight. If you guys get tired of the wet, just call me up and I’ll fetch you. And if it gets bad, I’ll fetch you anyways.”

“All right. Thanks, papa.” She kissed his cheek lightly and waved as he left. As he became smaller in the distance, her watery smile dissipated into a cloudy one. Thoughtfully, she picked up her tablet and scrolled at the document she had been writing. They had each agreed to write down their dreams in a journal for posterity and later analysis. But Amy didn’t know what to think about last night’s dream…

Dream Memoirs of AA: Entry # 296

_I don’t know why I woke up early that day. When I opened my eyes, it was still dark out, and the only rooster we kept wasn’t roused enough to crow yet. I rolled on my bed for a few more times, and ultimately gave up when sleep continued to elude me. Groggily, I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and scratched my untrimmed hair absently before slipping off the bed. As I padded to the adjoining lavatory of our quaint home, I recognized the hushed voices coming from our kitchen. I rinsed my face quickly, and turned off the faucet, listening intently to the conversation between my grandfather and another voice I didn’t recognize. Curious and a bit worried, I stealthily crept out, peering from a small hidden corner._

_“…a good kid. He is my grandson’s friend, and I know the boy,” declared the old man seriously._

_“No need to get defensive, sir. Our presence here is just formality. This murder investigation is—”_

_“Bollocks. From your story, it’s obvious he acted in self-defence.”_

_“Whether or not that is true is still a subject of discussion, Mr. Arlert.” There were two men standing in our kitchen, their faces rugged and stern. Both of them were armed and I recognized the emblem of the military police was on their garb. I was suddenly afraid. Why is grandpa talking to the MP that way? I’ve never heard him speak that way to anyone before. What if he got into trouble? I bit into my hand, afraid to let out any sign of distress. “Regardless of the circumstance, the fact remains that that 9 year old child has killed two grown men. In a small populated town like this, it is our duty to prevent a psychopathic animal from propagating violence and crime. We already have the Titans for that.”_

_“As far as I’m concerned, that ‘psychopathic animal’ just helped you rid this place of vermin! If you slackers had been doing your job then—”_

_“Hold your tongue, old man!”_

_One of the MP’s raised a hand and I could no longer keep quiet. “No! Please don’t hurt my grandpa!” I shoved myself between the two men and my grandfather. Though I was very afraid, my love for this old man outgrew my fear of these strangers. Thinking quickly, I tried to muster some tears and succeeded; the waterworks poured from my eyes like twin faucets. “He—he doesn’t mean any harm. Please—he’s grown quite senile through the years—”_

_“Armin!”_

_But I ignored this. “—so he doesn’t know who he’s talking to sometimes. Please, sirs! I’m the only one who’s taking care of him now.” I made a show of ushering my shocked grandfather to a nearby chair, completing the impression with calming sounds and reassurances. This seemed to calm the two angry men down._

_One of them rubbed his stubbly head in confusion. “Where are your parents, kid?”_

_“My folks are merchants, sirs, so they travel a lot. They’re presently beyond Rose on some business, I think.”_

_“Can that one take care of you?” one of them directed a look at my grandfather who shook off his shock at this tone and bristled. I gripped his arm in private warning; he seemed to have caught on and though he didn’t like it, he respected my wishes and played along, settling to a blank expression. When I looked back at the MPs, I managed a watery smile._

_“He has good days, sirs,” I said respectfully. Rubbing my head innocently, I added. “He just gets like this when he sleeps badly, or when it’s too early like now, I guess.” At this, it was their turn to be embarrassed. “C-can I help you with anything, sirs?”_

_The burlier of the two clicked his tongue; though my heart was jumping at my throat the entire time, I could already sense my victory in this one. “Fine, then. Guess we’ll have to talk to you, then.”_

_As the police began talking, I held back my growing nerves. I answered any of their inquiries as respectfully and succinctly as I could, careful not to rise their ire, while gathering as much information as I could. By the time they were gone, I was already sharing worried looks with my old man._

_“Don’t worry, son. They won’t touch Eren—he’s just a child. And Grisha’s too big to be messed with anyways.”_

_Though I knew this to be true, fear still clenched my heart; I wanted nothing more than to be at the side of the troublemaker that is my best friend…_

 

* * *

 

Miruki was already awake. He had listened to Amy’s distant muttering and knew immediately that she was recording the events in her dream journal. He didn’t bother ‘waking up’ at Mr. Haart’s arrival and was glad that the man did not call out to him. The pit in his stomach immobilized him, and he could not find the strength to get up and face anyone. By the time the old man had gone, he was still staring at the uninteresting patterns of his wool blanket. The dreams—memories—were so vivid. Miruki did not exist—there was only Mikasa and her horrible experiences. He knew that the scent of blood was nothing but a residue of the dream, but he could not put this to bed.

Not when he had seen them die…

 _Mother….Father…._ he mouthed wordlessly and swallowed back the gathering tears.

Now he understood why Mikasa had killer instincts. She had seen death first hand, had almost been sold to the black market. And had killed one of her parents’ murderers. But she couldn’t have done it without her saviour. She could not have done it without Eren.

 _Fight to live_. The crazed words of that wild boy that was his best friend’s past self was now engraved in him. _If you don’t fight, you will die. If you fight, you live._ Deadly logic in the mind of a 9 year old.  

 _What does that make of Eren? What does that make of me?_ Miruki mused.

With a sigh, he pulled down his blanket, looking up at the vast blueness up above. The sweet scent of the forest made him sneeze once and he rubbed his nose and he stood up, brushing away the crushed grass and soil from his clothes. Even without looking at Amy, he knew she was watching him. Neither spoke. He was emotionally, mentally, physically exhausted. Erik was still curled in his own blanket but Miruki knew he was feigning sleep as well. Quietly, he settled beside him, feeling his seeping warmth, lost in his own private thoughts.

_Through the haze of my grief, I recognized that the investigation was over just in time for the sun’s rising. The scent of fresh morning dew following yesterday’s storm was intoxicating to my senses. From the cottage window of my new home, I could see the cloudless sky, and the sun’s rays sending orange and red sparks overhead. Everything, from the homey scents, to the soft mattress, to the beautiful scenery outside left a bitter taste in my tongue. My parents are gone. The skies should be mourning, not going about its daily business as though everything was normal._

_Truly…the world is a cruel place._

_These thoughts leave me cold. I pushed the scarlet scarf up to my chin; it was the only thing that I could find no bitterness in. That, and the wild-eyed boy sleeping peacefully beside me. The same wild-eyed boy who saved me. The boy named Eren._

_He had insisted on sharing his room with me, saying that he didn’t want me to be lonely tonight. Lonely didn’t cut it but his intentions left me warm. I curled closer to him, tucking my head under his chin. The marks on his neck have taken a lovely shade but I dared not touch it lest he wake. His light breathing tickled the back of my neck but I welcomed it. The coppery scent of blood still clung to him in spite of the thorough bath Carla Jaeger gave us. Or maybe it was just part of my imaginings. I closed my eyes, breathing in his warmth. I cannot think of Eren’s parents as mine just yet—the memories of my beautiful mother and handsome father are still too fresh. But this one—this boy and his scarf—I can claim._

_An unfamiliar sensation of possessiveness gripped me. This boy saved me. This boy named Eren is mine. And this scarf around my neck binds me to him._

_I allow myself to drift, comforted by this last thought._

The shuffling sound jogged Miruki back to his senses. Erik sat up slowly, a grim expression on his face. Wordlessly, they shared a look. His mouth was pressed into a line and Miruki couldn’t help but feel that the very adult expression didn’t belong there at all.

“Miru—don’t look at me like that. I can’t bear you looking like that.”

Miruki wondered how he looked exactly; perhaps his face matched the hollowness carved in his insides. But Erik’s obvious concern warmed him—and it wasn’t Erik looking at him but Eren as well. Distinction was losing its ground.

“Miruki…are you sure you’re okay with this?”

The Asian boy’s expression softened all the more. This was all Erik now because Eren would never have stopped to ask—he would simply do. Affectionately, he rubbed Erik’s bedhead. “If you’re okay with it, then I am.” Saying this, Miruki realized that this was the absolute truth.

Erik stared for a moment at his palms before replying. “I’m—I’m not okay…with all that actually. But I still want to do it.” Their eyes met—molten grey against turbulent blue-greens—and an understanding was forged. Miruki briefly patted Erik’s cheek and smiled.

“All right,” he said simply. The echo of Mikasa’s thoughts drifted in his mind and he accepted those thoughts as his very own.

_I’ll follow you wherever you go._

_I’ll follow you to depths of the earth._

_I’ll follow you to death itself._

 

 

* * *

 

_The sun was already high when I opened my eyes. I yawned heavily, and before I could squirm around, remembered that I wasn’t alone in the bed. Asleep, she looked so peaceful. I never really noticed before, but she is kinda pretty. Her hair is as black the ink dad uses, and it makes her white skin shine. Maybe she needs to play outside more, but mommy told me before that ladies are more conscious about their looks and skin color. I don’t really get those things._

_The pain and bruises in my neck reminded me why she was here in the first place. The memory was enough to make me growl. Those bastards—but they’re dead now, so all is well, I guess._

_I poked her cheek warily; would she wake? When her eyes fluttered open, I noticed for the first time that her eyes are grey and not brown. I pulled my hand away guiltily. “H-hey.”_

_She blinked once. “Eren.”_

_Her voice was soft, and cool. I was instantly calmed out of my momentary panic. “I think we slept past breakfast. You hungry?”_

_She stared at my face for a while that I wondered if I had something on my face. Slowly, she nodded. I took that as my cue and hopped off the bed. “All right—let’s see if mom left us something.” But before I could leave, I felt her tug my shirt. I looked back, a bit annoyed since I was hungry too, until I saw her face. I didn’t like the expression on her face._

_“What?” I wondered if I said something wrong. Mom always did reprimand me for being too hot-headed and tactless. In what I hoped was a more sympathetic tone, I softened my voice. “Mikasa...?”_

_At the mention of her name, the cloud eased and she smiled a crack. I scratched my head._

_“You remember my name.” The depth on her eyes did not match the emptiness of her tone._

_“Of course I did. Mikasa…Ackerman, right?” I added, still not getting what it was about. She nodded and hung her head, and I realized that she must be remembering her parents. Just like that, it hit me. Gently, I took her hand and struggled against my own embarrassment; she was looking at me so intently. I tried not to look away as I babbled. “Y-you don’t have to call my parents ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ yet. Heck, you don’t have to call them that at all. You can talk about it and I’ll listen. And it’s okay to cry because you’re a girl—and anyways, it’s okay to cry even if you aren’t. You can be Mikasa Ackerman for as long as you like.”_

_I wondered if I made sense, or if I even understood why she was being so uncertain. But her expression cleared and I released a sigh. My stomach chose that moment to growl, and she giggled—it reminded me of the Wallist’s church bells. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound._

_I tugged her hand impatiently. “C’mon. Let’s grab us some breakfast—then I’ll introduce you to Armin.”_

_Mom had already gone out to leave laundry but left warm bread and goat cheese for us. I wanted to impress and take care of her—she is my sister now, after all—so I tried to boil some hot water for tea. To my dismay, she ended up doing it herself, instructing me to sit down._

_“You’re not doing it right,” she reasoned, so I begrudgingly sat down as told. To my surprise, the tea was perfect—way better than the way even mom prepared it. It was kind of annoying that someone my age could be so good in something as simple as tea. When I blurted that out, she didn’t get angry—she just smiled, at me._

_I don’t get it._

_As we ate, my thoughts wandered to mom. We never talked about what happened last night. When we arrived, she hugged me and asked dad what happened. After telling her, I expected her to get angry just like dad; instead, she looked at me for a long time and cried while embracing me. It was scarier than the encounter with those kidnappers, and even scarier than dad’s scolding. So I cried with her not really understanding why I should._

_Mikasa broke my thoughts. “Those men…”_

_I looked at her. “What about those men?”_

_“We killed them.”_

_I sipped my tea. “Yeah.” Why are we talking about this at breakfast? She must have seen me frown because she fell silent again, and our meal ended peacefully._

_That’s when Armin came. Or rather, he burst at our door. His blond hair was sticking out at the ends and he surprised me by grabbing my shoulders._

_“Eren—thank goodness! I wanted to come as soon as I heard but it was too early, and then Grandpa sent me out on some errands at the market, and—”_

_“Whoa. Um, good morning, too, Armin,” I interrupted, blinking at him. He only stared at me, frowning, as though analysing me in that scrawny brain of his. I swear, sometimes (most of the time), I don’t get what’s on his mind._

_“Are—are you sure you’re okay, Eren?” he whispered._

_I removed his hands from me. “Of course I’m okay! Don’t I look okay to you?”_

_“That’s it actually—other than the bruises on your neck, you look okay.” The way he said it, it was as though there was something wrong with that. Before I could ask what he meant, Mikasa interrupted us._

_“You are…Armin.”_

_At this, Armin jolted; he obviously had not noticed her before. All at once, he was taking in everything about her in a way that could be uncomfortable for some people. Like a light bulb going up in his head, he exclaimed. “Y-you’re—you’re Asian.”_

_“Half,” she snapped._

_“I—I’m really sorry,” Armin rubbed his flushed cheeks, embarrassed yet unable to keep his eyes away. I was interested; I’ve never seen Armin this flustered. Then again, there weren’t many girls our age in our street to hang out with; and the two of us kept mostly to ourselves. “It’s that—I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”_

_“That’s what they said, too.”_

_Realization stilled Armin but before he could even speak again, Mikasa was already out of her chair._

_“…Mikasa?”_

_And she was out of the door._

_Groaning, I ran out, dragging Armin with me. “Geez! And mom said I was the tactless one!”_

_“I’m sorry okay?”_

_“Let’s just run after her!”_

_She slipped past us easily. But after asking around, we were able to locate her at the port—ironically, it was also the place that Armin and I hung out at regularly. I reached her first and saw that she was sitting on the edge, her feet swinging above the slow-flowing waters below, a faraway expression on her face. I honestly didn’t know what to do; all I knew, though, was that I hated seeing that expression on her face._

_“Mikasa…”_

_“I wish my mom wasn’t Asian. If so, they would still be alive.”_

_I heaved. “Bullshit.”_

_She started, looking at me with disapproving and wide eyes; I don’t honestly care. It was better than that glum expression earlier. “Bullshit. People like that would kill and rob for any other stupid reason. It’s not your mom’s fault she was born like that, and it’s not your fault either. It’s all them. They’re animals, and they deserve more than what I did to them!” My loud voice was shaking—my whole body was shaking—in anger, in the whole injustice of it all. I was angry for her—no one deserved to go through that kind of suffering. I want to kill them. I want to kill them again. But…“They’re dead now. But if I could kill them again, I would—if that would wipe away that look on your face.”_

_“Eren…” Armin’s voice trailed behind me. Knowing Armin, he probably already knew most of what happened last night. His solid stance behind me and the clarity in his eyes was enough to calm me down. Mikasa was still looking at me with that strange expression. She stood up and approached us slowly._

_“I…understand.” Her voice was muffled beneath the scarf. She was looking at her feet instead of us. “Eren…you don’t have to kill anyone for me anymore.”_

 

 

* * *

 

Erik had slipped away from the group, for once preferring the sounds of nature to the excited chatter of his friends as they discussed the past. For someone who was previously adamant against remembering, Miruki had been forthcoming about it all; Erik wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The two did not question his excuse of wanting to explore the wilderness on his own, as though understanding that he needed some alone time.

Contemplatively, he sat cross-legged above a pile of rocks, carefully avoiding the moss. The sound of birds tweeting high above and the gurgling waters below relaxed him. Pensively, he stared at the brook, its waters flowing smoothly except for the occasional interruption of jumping fish. These days, Erik found himself spending more and more time contemplating the meaning of his existence. Being honest with himself, he knew that philosophical thinking was more of Amy’s area than his, but he could not help it. Since he had woken up, the echo of their first encounter more than a thousand years ago had not left his mind. Armin and Eren had been best friends long before Mikasa’s arrival; he understood the importance of that. But now, more than ever, he finally grasped the reason for Mikasa’s clinginess to him. He had practically saved her, and had even resorted to killing. Bad men, for sure, but men nonetheless.

Suddenly frustrated, he picked up a nearby stone and threw it on the moving waters ahead. It sank immediately. He picked up another with the same results. He frowned at the dirt in his hand. Eren had been 9 years old when he killed those men—just a year younger than he was now. It was a staggering realization that he was capable of doing something like that. He remembered Eren’s righteous fury, fuelling him as he violently swung his knife-hand down, again and again and again—red spurting from the body below, staining his clothes, his face, his hands.

All red, all red, all red. Even his vision had gone red. It had gone red the moment he saw the Ackerman’s’ lifeless bodies. It remained red as he tracked those men, with the instinct of a hunting dog. The red had degenerated to blood when he glimpsed the bound girl on the floor, eyes glassy with shock. Because that look had no business being in her face, or anyone’s face for that matter.

He had killed two men and managed to free Mikasa and after that, he was in the air, his legs swinging, his neck grasped like a chicken. But Eren didn’t have the grace to die quietly. Even then, the red in his eyes remained, still thirsting for more blood, for justice. He had screamed something to her—at her.

And she killed the man who held him.

What does that make of him that he killed two men without batting an eyelash?

What does that make of him that he urged a girl who would later become his sister to kill for him?

What does that make of him that he felt nothing but relief and exuberance at seeing three men dead—with one of the dead stabbed beyond recognition by his own hands?

Another weight settled beside him. “Erik.”

He hid his chin under his crossed arms. “Miruki.”

They watched the sparkling waters in silence. Erik peeked at the other boy, noting his calm expression. He had to ask. He had to know.

“Am I…Am I a bad person, Miru?”

His slanted eyes widened a fraction. “What brought this on?”

“Just—” he sighed. “Last night. You know. I—I killed people.”

“More than twelve centuries ago,” Miruki corrected softly. “To save me—Mikasa. I killed someone, too.”

“I told you to!”

But Miruki shook his head. “You didn’t make me do anything. You just gave me a choice, remember? 'If you don’t fight, you die. So fight, to live.’ I certainly didn’t want to die…so I—Mikasa—chose to live.”

Erik ducked his head again. “Still…”

“Erik,” he looked up at the tone. Those stormy eyes were challenging him. “Is that what this is really about?”

 _Is that what this is really about?_ He repeated to himself. He shook his head, realizing the core of it.

“No,” he replied. “It just bothers me that I’m not as bothered as I should be.”

Miruki sighed and flicked a finger at the other boy’s forehead. “Hey! What’s that for?” Erik pouted, covering the spot with both hands.

“That’s for making me worry. And for thinking up unnecessary stuff. Stuuupid.”

“Miruki! You’re so mean, you know—”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person,” he interrupted. When Erik tried to look away, Miruki grasped both sides of his head, forcefully keeping eye contact. “Listen. Back then, we—no, Eren and Mikasa—were pushed into a situation that forced them to act. It was a choice between living and dying, and they did what they could to survive. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in choosing to fight and to live. So don’t feel bad for not feeling bad.”

He murmured a sound of assent, knowing that Miruki was right. But the young Asian’s hands didn’t let go yet, confusing Erik.

“Erik,” he murmured after a while. “If…if something like that happened again. Would you save me? Would you do that again?”

At that, he suddenly had a vivid image of someone bound on the floor; but instead of Mikasa, it was Miruki there with a glassy and helpless look on his face. The idea alone brought bile to his mouth. Miruki watched the suddenly feral look on his face.

“See? There’s your answer,” said a pleased Miruki, finally letting go of his head but Erik grabbed his wrist tightly, almost painfully. If he was pained, the Erik didn’t see it.

“If anyone touches you, or Amy, I will hurt them. I’ll destroy them.” Energy was bursting in him; he wanted to scream, or throw something. The idea of his two friends hurt simply made him mad. It made him see red.

“Erik,” Miruki tugged his hand away and shook him by the shoulders. He felt blank calm settle in him as he was enveloped in the strong arms of his friend. “It’s okay. It’s over. Nothing’s gonna happen to us, okay?”

Erik closed his eyes, suddenly tired and confused as Miruki rocked him back and forth whispering words that eased that strange ache in his heart.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’ll always be here. I’ll protect you.

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

 

* * *

 

“Guys…?”

The two pulled apart; Erik wiped the salt off his face while Miruki simply looked at Amy with calm inquiry. She suddenly felt guilty for intruding, for her voyeurism. She had been listening to the conversation, well aware that it was not meant for her ears. But curiosity, and that strange feeling at the pit of her stomach, had held her in place. And anyways, it couldn’t wait. “Sorry. Miruki—you left your phone at the site. Your dad called and asked that you call him back as soon as you’re available.”

Miruki nodded and took his thin mobile from Amy’s outstretched hand. He unlocked the phone, pressed a few more buttons and waited as the phone rang. When Aaron Schmidt’s familiar face showed up on the screen, Miruki waved. “Hey, pops.”

“Miru—it’s not too early, I hope?” Amy peered at the screen for a moment and bit back her surprise. Flaxen-hair, a strong jaw, eyes reminiscent of frozen lakes, and those solid eyebrows…

A silly thought came over Amy, making her giggle helplessly: Who would ever want to be reincarnated with those eyebrows again?

Miruki glanced at her curiously and she shook her head, going instead to Erik’s side. She rubbed her chin on top of his unruly brown hair, listening with half-an-ear to the conversation. Erik didn’t resist as she wrapped her arms around his neck, only sighing at their shared warmth. Was it pure chance that one of the ‘great leaders of the new world’ was now Miruki’s stepfather? But the more they discovered about their old lives, Amy was finding it harder and harder to believe that anything ever happened coincidentally at all.

“What? But, pops—” From the corner of her eye, she watched Miruki scratch his head in frustration. She didn’t hear what was said on the other end but whatever it was, Miruki ended up sighing in resignation. “All right, fine. See you, then.”

As the call ended, both of them looked at the Asian boy in silent inquiry. He sighed again. “Papa Schmidt said that I have to go back.”

“What?” exclaimed Erik. “Why? It’s only been a day—”

“My uncle just came back from the Eastern Continents.”

“I didn’t know you had an uncle,” said Amy, interested.

“Well, I do. He’s Papa Schmidt’s younger brother. He’s actually adopted, but they’re apparently really close. I’ve never seen him before either.”

“What’s he doing in the Eastern Continents? Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Erik.

“He’s part of the Survey Corps—”

“WHAT?” Erik perked up, hitting Amy’s jaw with his sudden movement. Apologizing quickly at the scowling girl, he turned his attention back to Miruki. “That—that’s SO cool!”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Amy smiled as she rubbed her sore spot at the flabbergasted expression on Erik’s face. “That’s just awesome, Miru! You should totally go meet your uncle—right now!”

“Not right now, you dummy,” he pinched Erik’s ear painfully. “He’ll be arriving home tonight, though.”

“Oww! What’s that for?”

“You’re too careless—you hit Amy.”

“It was an accident! And I apologized.” He looked pleadingly at Amy who rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you did apologize. And I forgive you.” She said sweetly.

“See?” he jutted his jaw defensively.

"Though it did kind of hurt..."

"I-I'm sorry!"

Miruki sighed. “Whatever. Well. Maybe you two can go ahead with the plans without me—”

“No,” interrupted Erik quickly.

Amy likewise shook her head. “Miru, we can still go camping next time. Let’s all go home. I’ll call papa.”

“But—”

Boldly, Amy kissed Miruki’s cheek, efficiently silencing him. The way he spluttered like a fish, red-faced, was so unlike Miruki that Erik laughed out loud and she found herself giggling in spite of the warmth in her own cheeks. “It’s all right. It won’t be as fun without you, anyways.”

“W-whatever.” He repeated, turning his face away from them as he trudged back towards camp. Erik stood up, dusting off the dirt from his pants and followed the boy with Amy.

“You’re welcome, too, Miru,” she added with a smile.

 

* * *

 

It was past afternoon when Amy settled back in her room. After tidying up her room, she switched on her tablet, reattached the keyboard and opened a hidden file she had not shown to Miruki earlier. Her fingers furiously tapped, vivid images and thoughts racing in her mind.

Dream Memoirs of AA: Entry # 296 (continuation)

_“Eren…you don’t have to kill anyone for me anymore.”_

_I felt like a voyeur; this wasn’t a conversation that I was supposed to be part of. But I couldn’t move away. I couldn’t look away from Eren and the girl. I couldn’t look away from this girl._

_I tried to convince myself that it was just my curiosity over her Asian origins. But as I continued to stare at that white skin, at her ebony hair and at her morose eyes, I realized that it wasn’t just that. An unfamiliar sensation was in my tummy—as though I swallowed a dozen live butterflies. Inside me, they fluttered, warming my face if that was even possible._

_I see Eren rub his head again—a tell-tale sign that he was confused by her. Honestly, Eren could be so clueless that I wonder where those bouts of genius come from._

_“Right. Well,” he waved his hand awkwardly, gesturing towards me. “This is Armin Arlert. He’s my best friend, and he’s a regular genius.”_

_I didn’t know which made me blush harder: Eren’s honest reverence for me or the curiosity in those very fine eyes. My cheeks were stinging from the unbearable warmth as I tried to meet her look head-on. The flight of the butterflies was making me dizzy. “Geez, Eren, you’re embarrassing me.” I joked._

_He rolled his teal eyes at me and continued. “And this is Mikasa Ackerman—my sister.”_

_So they adopted her. I nodded at this, noticing the strange expression on her face as her attention drifted back to Eren. I held my hand out formally, praying I didn’t have sweaty palms. “Mikasa…I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I hope we can start over, and be friends.”_

_The few seconds of waiting was agonizing. She seemed to be processing my outstretched hand, as though contemplating whether I was truly friend or foe; I did not waver. Finally, she met my handshake, and found out to my pleasure that her small hand was just the same size as mine._

_“Accepted,” she replied and added nothing further. I was sorry to end the contact, and the sensation made me feel like the boy that I am rather than the old man I often thought I was._

_Eren was saying something about going to the other side of the harbour. Mikasa’s attention was fixed wholly at him, a hungry look on her face. I felt my eyes widen at her flushed cheeks, and at the way she buried her chin at the scarf that Eren used to wear._

_The heat in my cheeks died and an unbearable weight plummeted to my belly, and the flapping of velvety wings died. I replied automatically, smilingly, to something that Eren asked me, but she continued to look at him with that expression—as though he were responsible for the sun shining in the morning, as though he drew the moon and stars in the night sky._

_“Armin—you okay?”_

_“Ah—yeah. I was just thinking of...butterflies.” It was a half-true. That Eren noticed something was off reminded me how perceptive he can be. He gave me a confused look. Smoothly, I propagated the lie, regaling them about a story about butterflies that I read some time ago. As we settled on the stone surface, I concentrated instead on the awed Eren and at the vaguely interested Mikasa._

_The crushed butterflies in my belly gave one last flutter as I swept them away._

Amy swallowed the lump in her throat as she finished. She saved the document and reread her write-up, editing some grammatical errors here and there. It was obvious wasn’t it? Armin was best friends with Eren, and Eren saved Mikasa. Mikasa had feelings for Eren.

And I—Armin—had feelings for Mikasa.

Was that what compelled her to kiss Miruki’s cheek earlier? She really didn't know what came over her; affectionate gestures were common between the three of them but it was the first time she had ever kissed Miruki. Redness stole on her cheeks and she sighed the feeling away, contemplative. She wondered what the future had in store for them.

And wondered how long they can keep their innocence.

 

* * *

 

“Mama, have you ever met Papa’s brother before?” Miruki asked as he helped set the table. Ayako Schmidt was at the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she stirred the miso soup and adjusted the flame. A lot of people said that he looked more like his mother—smooth raven hair, slanted eyes, pale skin, and slender body. In spite of her age, she looked ten years younger, and Miruki always wondered if it had something to do with their Asian ancestry.

“Hmm, a few times, dear,” she answered. “He’s always off doing things in the military. He’s quite young, though.”

“Oh?” Miruki mulled this over and settled on a chair, resting his chin on his palm. “What’s he like?”

Ayako paused in her stirring as though deep in thought. “Well, for one, he’s Asian, too.”

“What—really? What particular descent?” There were many types of repopulated Asians after all since the old continent of Asia was known for its racial diversity. The Akizawas—Miruku’s own family—were descended from a small but diverse country called Japan. 

“Hmm, Chinese, I think. But I can’t be too sure.”

Miruki tried to think about what he read about the Chinese—from the old text, they were described as having a similar phenotype as the Japanese, only with yellower skin and narrower eyes. And they were small, too. They were described as a group of shrewd and business minded people, and belonged to one of the strongest nations in the world back in the day. “Is he small?”

Ayako threw an amused glance at her son. “Not really. He’s as tall as me when we met a few years ago.”

Miruki sniggered; his mom was 5’4’’, and he stands at 5 feet himself. “He is pretty small then, for a guy.”

“Don’t tell him that, dear.”

“Don’t worry, mama, I won’t.”

At that, he ran towards their own library and pulled out a book entitled “The History of Asia” which was translated by Louie Haart himself. Seating cross-legged on the carpeted floor, Miruki lost himself in the big pages, consulting a nearby dictionary for complicated words he didn’t understand. For a moment, he forgot about the burdens of the past, immersing himself in ancient civilizations and feudal wars. Vaguely, he heard the hesitant drops of rain hit the nearby window but he drowned this out, even as it escalated into a violent spatter, the strong wind rattling the panes. Part of his mind was glad they ended their camping early; he wouldn’t want to be caught in the middle of nowhere wet.

An hour and a half later, the front door opened and he quickly slammed his book shut, replaced it on the shelf and went out to meet his stepfather and uncle, trying to hide his growing excitement.

“The weather’s fucked.” An unfamiliar and irritated voice said.

“It’s not bad—you’re just not used to it here. You’ve been away for too long.” Papa Schmidt’s deep and serene voice answered.

The grumbling continued. “Still fucked.”

Miruki wondered if this person’s language was always this colorful. Suddenly, he stopped, steadying himself with his hands on the wall as a vision of a man filled his head, his green cape fluttering behind as he stood nonchalantly above steaming carcass.

_Hey, brats. What’s going on here?_

“What’s going on here?” Miruki repeated to himself, feeling cold sweat in his forehead.

“Honey—welcome back. And hello, too, dear. Put up your coats in the stand and leave your shoes in the landing, okay? I don’t want the floor wet.”

Miruki held his breath and stepped into view. Papa Schmidt was there, the hem of his khaki pants wet, an affectionate expression on his face. But instead of the usual happiness, he felt creeping horror as recognition set in. How could he have not recognized him? It was practically the same face, the same built, even the same eyebrows.

“Commander?” he said in a stricken voice, and the soft look on his father’s face fell into wariness.

“Miruki…”

But he found himself shaking his head; he glanced at the man beside his stepfather. The man was indeed the same height as Ayako Schmidt—with jet-black hair, styled into an efficient undercut. He had a small face, and his thin brows were creased into a seemingly permanent frown and it was directed at him—or was it at Mikasa?—silvery eyes glinting. The grey dinner suit he wore matched his eyes but it was unbecoming on him—after all, Miruki was not used to seeing him like this. To him, the old uniform of the Survey Corps was much suited, gears and blades fastened at the sides.

Without realizing Miruki was hyperventilating as he shook his head in disbelief.

Because the Humanity’s Strongest was standing at their doorstep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT. PLOT. PLOT.
> 
> Insights/comments are welcome and appreciated. :)


	5. Foreboding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because what History knows, History repeats."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is 3 days late! This was supposed to be uploaded earlier but...Argh! My trusty laptop broke down (why do my laptops keep breaking down? They hate me.*cries*) and my internet is incredibly fickle. 
> 
> Thank you very much for your reviews and kudos! Special call out to without_mission, who inspired me to write this story. As long as you're reading this, I am a happy shroom. :)

 

It was past midnight and yet the two were still awake—the goddess and her monster. They were in a small terrace in the middle of a greenhouse where the roses and dahlias and more flowers and shrubs Ymir could not name grew all-season. The air was fresh, cool, fragrant. Truly befitting the girl sitting across her from the garden set, peacefully enjoying her steaming cup of tea. Who had prepared the tea anyways? The servants? Certainly, she did not see the princess preparing the tea; it was already set out on the table when they arrived. More than once, Ymir found herself wondering how Historia managed to keep her existence secret. When asked of that and other things, she would give vague answers or only give a brief hum in response; in both ways, conversation ended with a razor-cut’s precision. The ensuing silence was not always pleasant.

_How do you bridge a thousand years of emptiness?_

“It begins.”

The words were spoken so softly that Ymir almost didn’t catch it.

“What are you saying, Historia?”

The albino princess walked towards the glass panels, the long frills of her pale nightgown billowing lightly behind her. Under the dim light of the half-moon, she looked ethereal—ageless even—as her white hair and skin shimmered. Ymir could only hold her breath, still staggered by her beauty even after all this time, still reeling at seeing her alive, tangible, after more than a millennium of waiting.

“History ebbs and flows. Like a river, coming apart as it flows into the ocean, coming together as it goes back to the mountains. Endless.”

Here, too, was a major difference. Ymir was unused to the strange way this girl spoke—entirely too mysterious, mystifying even. “A cycle, you mean.”

Historia simply hummed. “I say it has begun, but the truth is, it has begun way before any of us. Way before the world perhaps? I wonder.”

Ymir frowned, and walked towards her. She placed a callused hand over her lithe shoulders. “You speak in riddles.”

“Life is a riddle.”

Her grip tightened. The girl gasped as she was abruptly turned around to face the freckled woman. Her already narrow eyes narrowed further, perusing her little goddess. Words were overrated. Words were confusing. If words could not bridge them, perhaps actions would. Then without warning, she pinched her cheeks, earning an unexpected squeal. The sound was music to Ymir’s ears.

“Ymir! What was that for!” she pouted, rubbing her reddened cheeks. The woman only grinned down at her and drilled a finger at her forehead.

“You’re way too serious for your own good, Historia. I swear—if I only knew that I’d be waiting for a wizened brat all these years, I’d have killed myself way before.”

“Ymir!” But her protests ended when the tall woman kneeled and pressed her lips against each of her little hurts—both cheeks, then forehead—before resting her forehead against the smaller one.

 “I’m kidding, jeez,” she snickered, and the young albino’s rejoining giggle widened her smile further. “I just wanted to hear you laugh. I missed hearing that laugh. I missed hearing your voice. I missed looking at you—your face, your body. Though honestly, this body of yours is way too young for my tastes…” she trailed as Historia blushingly whacked her shoulder. When the girl tried to pull away, she steadied her by cupping her small warm nape. Her brown eyes peered into her crystalline ones. “I missed these eyes. And this nose. And this mouth.” She emphasized each word with a feather-light kisses on those parts. When Ymir licked those small lips, a needy whimper escaped from Historia, and she took advantage by introducing her tongue into the wet crevice, in ways both familiar and foreign. By the time she was done, the young girl was already pressing her body against hers, shuddering and gasping for breath, fingers gripping onto Ymir’s tunic shirt.

The tanned woman revelled in the glassy expression on her face—it suited her far more than the world-weary one she had been seeing since she had been awakened. But she shook her head at the wordless begging she saw there and chuckled. “You know I love you—I do, Historia. But even a depraved creature like me has moral standards. And I’m not touching you while you’re in this childish body.”

“You said that the other day,” she challenged. “But you still kissed me. And you’re already touching me now, aren’t you?”

Affectionately, Ymir pinched her nose lightly, delighted to hear her speak normally for a change. “You’re too cute. And you know what I mean. You’re still 10 years old.”

“I’m 11.83!”

 “And 11.83 would be…?”

Sighing, Historia clarified. “That would be…11 years and 10 months. I’m a late bloomer.”

With a cheeky smile, Ymir rubbed her palms over the flat chest, feeling the small breast buds perk. “You don’t have to tell me that.” Historia whacked her again, scarlet-faced and hugging her chest as Ymir laughed raucously. “See there? I can’t touch a virgin-child.”

Historia rolled her eyes adorably. “And you are such a perv.”

“Says the one who was panting so much from a little kiss.”

She gulped at this and linked her small fingers with Ymir’s larger ones. “Because you tease me too much.”

“And I’ll continue teasing you like this until you’re old enough to f—” Historia interrupted her lover’s crudeness with a chaste kiss.

“You won’t,” she said softly. “Be here to tease me. Because you’ll be doing something for me instead.” Ymir waited for the girl to elaborate, watched as she nibbled her lower lip guiltily. “I—I didn’t want to wake you up in my—my state. I know that as I am, you won’t touch me, Ymir. And I want to be touched so badly.” Her expressive eyes shone brightly. “But I had to. I—I don’t want to ruin this.”

Ymir lifted the small hand to her lips, worshipping those dainty knuckles. “I know. But I have no problem seeing you like this anyways. I think I’ll even enjoy watching you grow, even if I can’t touch you the way I want to. So tell me, Historia…why?”

_Why did you wake me up so soon? What do you want me to do?_

A faraway expression settled once more in her young face. “Trouble is coming.”

“There you are again, speaking in riddles. The princess didn’t suddenly become a fortune teller, did she?” Ymir said lightly.

But the humor in her died at Historia’s grim face. “The future cannot tell me what the past already can.” Cupping Ymir’s face, she continued sadly. “Because what History knows…History repeats.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner was tension-filled. Miruki’s appetite seemed to revolt against each spoon of delicious miso and steaming rice. Forcefully he shoved, chewed, swallowed; an almost mechanical process. From time to time, his mother would look at him worriedly as though wondering over his sullenness. He ignored this; if his stepfather and his so-called brother could eat and pretend that nothing was wrong then so could he. He did not participate in the conversations at the table like he normally did, only politely responded at questions directed at him, did not find himself regaled with Erwin—Aaron’s—research which was responsible for his mostly being away from home. Aaron’s brother—Humanity’s strongest, or whoever and whatever he was in this time—was equally reticent; if he was disturbed by the awkwardness in the air, he did not show it at all.

 _Even now, this guy is a master at keeping the poker-face,_ Miruki thought resentfully. As soon as he finished his meal, he stood up, excusing himself from the table.

“Don’t you want to talk some more to your Uncle Levi, Miru?” asked his mother. He bit back a laugh, finding it peculiar that his mom wanted him to ‘talk some more’ to Levi when hardly a word had been exchanged between them.

Suddenly realizing something, Miruki stopped. “Your name is ‘Levi’?”

Raising a brow at being addressed by the boy for the first time, Levi replied blandly. “Got that right, kid.”

“Levi…Schmidt?” he probed.

“Ackerman,” he answered, sipping his tea nonchalantly.

Seeing his stepson stiffen, Aaron explained, “I adopted Levi five years ago. At the orphanage, once you turn thirteen, you are allowed to choose your own name. I didn’t believe it was right to make him change his last name, especially since he had chosen it himself.”

Miruki’s bark of laughter was so sharp it startled Ayako; he ignored the disapproving look directed at him. “So you chose to name yourself after the legendary Levi Ackerman from the Titan Era—one of the people responsible for heralding humanity’s victory.”

“Yes.”

Unreasonably irritated, he glared at the man sitting calmly next to his stepfather.  _You’re so full of shit_ , he wanted to say. Instead, he said sarcastically, “Interesting.”

“I see no reason why I shouldn’t claim my own…potential.” He said this with a brief humourless smile before calmly finishing his soup.

Miruki narrowed his eyes. He looked at Aaron Schmidt, acknowledged the knowing look in his face. He felt angry and betrayed. Many times, he had confided his dreams in the older man, who had only listened whilst giving nothing away, promising only to keep their conversations a secret. He had trusted the man. The discovery that the man he had treated as father for the past six years was in fact the reborn Erwin Smith was a deception so great it hurt him. Because all this time, he had known what was really going on, and had only pretended that nothing was wrong. It was as though he had taken advantage of the fact that Miruki had not recognized him before—why hadn’t he recognized him before this? Did he marry his mother because he knew he was Mikasa in the past? Did he even love his mother?

Most disturbing of all was this last selfish thought:  _Did he ever really love me?_

Averting his gaze, Miruki declared quietly, “I’m going to bed.”

Without another word, he stepped out of the kitchen, before running up the stairs two steps at a time, seeking comfort in the privacy of his room. As he lay down on the bed, Miruki stared at the ceiling for a long time, churning thoughts keeping sleep and dreams at bay. Rolling to his side, he looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table, the numbers on it glowing 2114H. Fretfully, he pulled out his phone, and after a moment’s hesitation, pressed dial. After three rings, Amy’s face flashed onto the screen, her cerulean eyes wide and curious. She had her hair down today instead of the usual pigtails, and he noted that she was wearing pyjamas.

“Did I wake you?” he asked automatically and she shook her head.

“No. I was heading out to bed, though.”

“Sorry,” Miruki muttered and she frantically waved a hand.

“No! No, it’s absolutely okay! I’m not really sleepy yet.” He narrowed his eyes at her, noting her flushed skin.

“Amy—are you sick? You look kind of…I dunno—red,” he added this with a frown when she gaped at him.

“It—it must be your screen. Or something. Miru,” she cleared her throat abruptly. “Why did you call?”

Suddenly remembering why he had called, he told her about the revelation and the brief dinner encounter. While answering the expected volley of questions, Miruki keenly watched her little nuances. Something wasn’t right. There was a strangely horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach.

“Can you describe Levi?” she asked.

“He’s…on the short side. Around my mom’s height—5’4” I think, or even less. He looks Chinese—but he’s not yellow-skinned. More pale than yellow. He has slanted eyes and his hair is done in this really weird undercut. He’s always frowning—like constipated, you know?” This earned a small giggle from the girl. “And he’s probably built. I mean—when he removed his coat, his muscles were bunching from under the dress shirt.”

“Well, he is in the military, so you’d expect him to have muscles,” Amy pointed out.

“Yeah. But it looks kind of weird in a small guy.”

“Mikasa had muscles. Her abs were so defined you could cut gems on them.”

“So?”

“Mikasa’s a girl—a pretty girl. And yet I don’t find it strange that she’s so built.”

“I’m—I mean, she’s—taller than that guy!”

“Still.”

“Whatever. And he’s arrogant. I don’t like him.”

“You’re certainly determined not to like him.”

 _Dammit. Why does she always have to be right?_ Miruki growled internally. “There something about him I just don’t like.”

“That’s because you’ve only seen him a few times in your dreams.”

“He beat Eren up.”

She rolled her eyes. “In the trial. But you remember that they did it to save him right? Erwin’s strategy.”

“Right.” There it was again. That strange pit in his stomach. “Amy.”

“Hm?”

He shouldn’t suspect her. She’s his friend…one of his best friends but—

“Amy…did you know…about my father?”

A pause. The dread was expanding up to his chest.

“Miruki…”

“Because you were surprised only with hearing about Levi. And now all you’re talking about is Levi. You knew about my father,” he added with conviction. “How long have you known?”

At the other side, Amy chewed her lower lip worriedly. “J-just this morning. Miruki, you have to believe me! You know well that I’ve never seen your dad before this morning.”

That’s it, too, wasn’t it? Why had he never introduced the man to his two best friends? Was it because he knew inside that his stepfather was Erwin Smith? Was he, unconsciously, trying to prevent their meeting? What did that mean? The idea made him sick to his stomach. Why didn’t Amy tell him this morning that she recognized his stepfather? He knew he shouldn’t blame her, not when he failed to recognize the man himself. Still, his thoughts ate at him. So he simply whispered: “I see.” And ended the call. He stared at his phone for a while, and when it blinked from an incoming call, he cancelled it and turned the mobile off.

With a huff, Miruki lay back down on his bed and closed his eyes. He didn't hear the quiet knock, the sound of the door opening. Lost in his own world, he didn't feel the callused hand that parted his locks, or see the tired yet tender expression of the man who was his stepfather as he leaned forward to kiss the top of his head.

Aaron Schmidt left the room as silently as he entered it. Just outside, leaning on the wooden panels was his old friend and adopted brother - his corporal in the previous life.

"That was fast," he remarked.

"He was already asleep."

"Hmph. What're you planning to tell him?"

The blonde gave the smaller man a thoughtful glance. "The truth. If he's ready."

"Well," said Levi bitterly. "He'll have to be. As you said, they're remembering too quickly."

Aaron raised a brow at that. "And you're remembering too slowly. Remember Eren yet?"

Levi rubbed his creased brows. "I keep telling you. No. Who's the brat supposed to be anyways?"

"If you're already calling him a brat, then there's something there that you're not letting yourself remember," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," sighed Aaron as they walked down the steps. "Care for some whiskey?"

 

* * *

 

 

_Eren blames himself, I know this. He has this unhealthy habit of blaming the misfortunes of his surroundings upon himself, no matter how unfounded. Like the death of his mother—our mother, the death of his squad a few months ago in the Battle of Trost. Even the death of Marco. Now, he mourns the death of the Special Squad in the hands of the Female Titan—and he believes it was his fault; that his dependence on them killed them. The doubts eat at his mind, his heart. I know this just as I know every line in my hand, just as I know every scar in his body, every hurt. I yearn to hold him, protect him, kiss all those hurts away. But he won’t let me, and knowing this digs deep in my heart. I do not tell him this. I do not even tell Armin, though I believe he already knows—I’ve seen his sympathetic looks. I am not sure I like it, even though he is one of my best friends._

_So instead of comforting him, I follow him discreetly from his room in the dungeon to the dining area. I stand vigil as he brews some tea for himself, watches only as he sits down dejectedly, those turquoise eyes dimmed and red-rimmed from an entire afternoon of grieving. I clench my fists. Just as I throw my pride out of the windows in my resolve to comfort, a shadow descended from the opposite staircase. I keep myself hidden. It was the Lance Corporal. I see his bandaged leg and wince internally in guilt. My impulsiveness almost got me killed, and him with me. He helped me save Eren…and saved me from myself.  I do not hate him…not anymore._

_And yet what is this uneasiness in my heart? I see them exchange looks for a long time as the short man stands at the foot of the stairs. He sighed as he approached, rubbing the back of his neck. Wordlessly, Eren stands up to pour him a cup of warm tea. They sit, deceptively calm, silent._

_“H-how is your leg, Corporal?”_

_He gingerly holds his cup in that unusual way of his, sips once before answering. “I won’t be swinging at trees for a while, that’s for sure.”_

_“Ah…”_

_Silence again. I see Eren gripping the leather on his pants. There was a giant elephant in the room. It was impossible to ignore it for long._

_“C-Corporal…”_

_“Levi.”_

_“What? I mean—Sir?”_

_The man sipped his tea again, eyes far-off, shadowed. “Not really up for formality now. Not when there’s only you and me left in my squad. It’s just us here anyways.”_

_Typical of the corporal to bluntly grab the elephant by its horns. When Eren speaks again, his voice shakes with emotion. “But…sir, not to mean any disrespect but—”_

_“Did I fucking stutter?”  I bristled at the sharp tone; I wanted to jump in there, take Eren away from this man. But I wait. And listen some more._

_“No—no, sir.”_

_“What?”_

_“No…Levi.”_

_Eren called the corporal by his name. There should be nothing amiss here, but I found myself backing up. Eren stood up to refill the older man’s empty cup. When they’re fingers brush innocently, almost negligibly, I clenched my fists. They were locked into a staring contest, and I could hardly breathe._

_I cannot watch this. I do not want to see him slip away from me. I took one step back, then another, until I was walking away altogether. I hear the final echoes of their conversation slip into the dark corridors I escaped from:_

_“Levi?”_

_“Hn.”_

_“I’m sorry, Levi.”_

_“…I’m sorry, too."_

 

* * *

 

Harry Hunter shook the newspaper in his hand, grunting at the text over his spectacles. “Stupid MPs.”

“Yes, dear?” Carol hummed as she poured milk and syrup onto her husband’s coffee.

“Look at the headlines—‘Trinity Killer Still At Large ’. How can they let that child killer escape? What the hell are they even doing?”

“Language, dear,” she scolded lightly in spite of the anxiety on her face. “But that is worrisome. Where was he incarcerated?”

“At the Balto Correctional. You know, the one they built beneath the ruins of the Sina Wall? They had intricate underground passages—”

“I know that, dear,” she cut off impatiently, laying down fluffy pancakes on Erik and her husband’s plates. “That is a high security prison, though. How could he have escaped?”

“Inside job, probably,” grunted Harry. “He escaped two days ago. There aren’t any news of attacks yet, but it’s not good news.”

“Hm. I hope they catch him again, soon. That place is far from Trost. But still…”

Harry grunted again, wagging his scalded tongue when he accidentally drank the piping hot coffee. That was when he suddenly noticed what was different.

Erik—his normally cheery and bright-eyed baby boy—was staring listlessly at the slab of butter melting over the marmalade-laden pancake. Harry rubbed his head; it was his son’s favourite meal after all. “Something wrong with you food, son?” He muttered over the newspaper.

“Nothing, dad,” he stirred finally, lamely cutting a square piece and shoving it in his mouth. A solemn expression was on his face as he chewed his meal thoroughly.

 _This would not do at all,_ he thought setting his paper aside. “Something bothering you, then?”

Erik looked up at his father’s concerned face. It should be strange that the man he used to know and treat as an uncle was now his father. But it wasn’t, not really. After all, wasn’t it rather simple? He liked Hannes back then; he was family, albeit extended. There were times when he thought of the man as his second father, especially since Grisha had always been away back then. When they had escaped into Rose, the man had practically taken care of him and Mikasa, and then later Armin, too, when his grandfather was sent away. Wasn’t it only natural—only right, even—that this man would be his father in this life?

But things weren’t always so simple, Erik acknowledged, thoughtfully biting into another forked portion. So when Harry asked this question, he replied. “Dad…what would you do if the person you knew all your life didn’t turn out to be who you thought he was?”

Erik watched the surprise and confusion in his father’s face. So he elaborated clumsily. “L-like, for example. Um. You learned that mama was a—um—a thief before you married her and had me…?”

“Oi—Carla,” his father called out. “What’re you not telling me—”

“DAD! That was an example!” He screeched.

At that, Harry sniggered and he could only glare. “I know. Just messing with you, son…so serious in the morning.”

“Dad,” he sighed into his chocolate drink.

“Son,” he returned, with a twinkle in his eye. But his voice was entirely serious as he folded his newspaper away. “Let’s change the question.”

“Huh, why?”

He smiled. “What if you learned that your mama—or even I—was a notorious thief back in our younger days? Would you hate us?”

Erik frowned. Would he hate them? “I—I don’t know. In your example…why were you stealing stuff?

“Does that matter?”

The boy blinked once then shook his head. “Are—are you still stealing stuff now?”

“Nope, we aren’t. Our only life now is centred on maintaining this family together. In other words—in each other, and of course, in you.”

He blushed at this. “Geez, dad. You’re so cheesy.”

He guffawed. “No best time to be cheesy than now. Well, what do you think?”

Erik nibbled onto his pancake, mulling it over. “Well. If it was the past. And you’re no longer doing those stuff now…I shouldn’t care anymore. Because—because you and mama love each other.”

“And you.”

“And me,” he looked away from his father, unable to keep the embarrassed flush from his face. Truly, he was lucky to be loved this much. “So, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, now you’ve got your answer.” Harry reached forth with a lanky arm to ruffle his son’s persistent bedhead. “You’ll learn, of course, that some things aren’t always that simple. This world isn’t all black and white. That’s what the color wheel’s for. But when in doubt…when even the greatest thinkers fail—you’ll find your answer here.” He pointed to his son’s chest. “And you’ll know.”

The explanation dazed Erik a bit but he nodded and Harry withdrew his hand. Quickly finishing his breakfast, he jumped out of his chair and after a brief hesitation, threw his arms around his father’s waist. “Thanks, dad. Love you.”

“And I love you, too, son.”

* * *

 

It was unbearably hot today, so unlike the dim weather during the past few days. Unfortunately, their PE instructor thought that this was the perfect opportunity to do their graded exams. Since they and two other students volunteered to go first, they were now sitting on the dirt, watching the other students do their stretches for the 100m sprint. As usual, Miruki broke his own sprinting record; Erik had long ago given up on feeling envious, instead concentrating on doing his best. He finished in good time, which was enough for him, though he could not prevent the growl that escaped his throat when the instructor openly compared him to his best friend.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” said Miruki, firmly pulling him to the side as they finished cooling down. “You did well, Erik.”

“You always say that, Mr. Perfect,” he said grudgingly. “Thanks though. You were great, too. Though I’m sure you already know that.”

“I do,” the Asian boy replied smugly. “But I still like hearing it from you. Thanks.”

Erik rolled his eyes and leaned back on his palms, watching the other students run. The girls were on the other side of the field, being tested simultaneously. Even in the distance, Amy’s small form was distinguishable from the others. She looked nervous. “Look—I think Amy’s up next. Let’s go cheer for her.”

“Hm. You go ahead.” Erik looked at his friend, noting the clouded expression. He already knew the reason why, since Amy had already confided in him.

 _This wouldn’t do at all,_ he thought, suddenly frustrated.

“It’s been six days.” If Miruki knew what he was talking about, he was doing a mighty job of not showing it. The response was only a soft grunt.

He continued. “Miruki—it’s not her fault.” Erik didn’t flinch as those steely greys narrowed at him.

“She told you.”

“Yeah—what’s wrong with that? We tell each other everything, right? And you didn’t ask her to keep it a secret. I would’ve known about it, anyways.”

The pale boy looked away. “I don’t tell you everything.”

“Yes, you do,” he challenged. They never kept secrets, right? “And I don’t really see what’s wrong with Erwin being your dad now. He was our commander back then—he’s a good guy. What’s eating at you?”

“It’s not that simple, Erik,” he growled. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know.”

“Miru—” When Miruki stood up, Erik reached out, instinctively grabbing for the other’s hand. “Don’t run away!”

“I’m not!”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“I—I just need to sort myself out, Erik,” he said, lightly squeezing his hand. “Give me time. Please.”

As his friend walked away, Erik sighed to himself. Harry did tell him that things weren’t always so simple. He hoped, though, that things would be patched up soon between Amy and Miruki. Erwin Smith as Miruki’s dad though…

“That’s pretty cool,” he muttered to himself, watching Amy sprint in the distance. He cheered even as she stumbled into last place, knowing that she did her best. Suddenly, he gasped to himself. “Oh right! I forgot to ask Miru about his uncle again!”

He gave an exasperated sigh, and resolved to bully Miruki in telling him about the man next time. The Survey Corps these days travelled the world, ridding the rest of the world of Titans, and going on expeditions to other worlds. The heroes of the new world. How cool was that? With one last hoot at Amy, he stood up, legs shaky from the sprint, to go to the still empty locker room for a shower. He didn’t see Miruki approach the flustered girl, didn’t see him take her by the wrist and drag her in the distance.

* * *

Amy winced as Miruki pulled her, his larger hand digging into her thin wrist. Noting her discomfort, he gentled his hold but did not release her until they were at a secluded area between the school buildings. Back still turned to her, he spoke first. “You told him.”

His sharp tone was like a verbal slap. Amy automatically ground her teeth to keep the tears at bay. “I did.”

She watched him fight for control, watched him clench and unclench his hands. “How much did you tell him?”

“Just about your father.”

“Levi?”

He was looking at her now, those slanted eyes piercing into her. She averted her gaze. “No.”

“Amy, look at me.” When she didn’t, a finger tipped her face back to him and Amy let out a sound of frustration. Why must he make this so difficult? Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, experiencing feelings both new and old—feelings she had no business having for her best friend.

“No, I didn’t tell him about Levi.”

Miruki expelled the breath he had been holding. “All right. Thank you.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell him?” Amy asked. When he remained silent, she continued. “He dreams about Levi, too, you know. To Erik, he’s the greatest hero that lived. He’d love to meet him—”

“Right,” he said bitingly, pressing a palm to his forehead. “He’d really  _love_ that, huh.”

She could see him struggling for control; even with the minimal facial expression, Amy knew he was frustrated—angry about something. Uncertainty plugged her throat but she could only wait for him to speak again, linking her hands anxiously.

“Since I met the guy, I’ve been having more and more dreams about him—it’s like a key turning, and all the memories about him are trickling out.”

“Miruki…”

“How,” he interrupted. “Do you expect me to introduce him? As my uncle? As Humanity’s Strongest? His old ‘boss’? Baby sitter? Oh—wait. Maybe old lover would cut it?” He spat this out as though it was the most disgusting notion in the world. “Since that’s what they were.”

He sent her a look, as though challenging her to say otherwise. But Amy could only meet his hot gaze unwaveringly even as her insides quivered. “Our Erik doesn’t remember that yet.”

“Yeah. But I do—and it’s obvious from your expression that you do, too.” Amy didn’t deny this; it was the truth after all. Lying about this wouldn’t help her at all. Though she was not sure of the facts, she had suspected. In the flashes of memory, Eren never confided in him or Mikasa regarding the extent of his relationship with the Lance Corporal. But she could tell—from the hidden glances, from the seemingly casual touches. In the later memories, there were always two topics Eren favoured: Titans and Levi. It was as consistent as night and day, as ritualistic as the ‘tea dates’—as Armin had privately named—the two had every midnight, or as allowed. It was painfully obvious that there was so much more going on between the two; Amy even wondered, with a blush, how far they had gone. Not that she knew or understood or was even remotely interested in the mechanics of male-to-male coupling.

She saw the hurt in Miruki’s eyes, wondering what exactly he saw in the recent dreams—how did Mikasa discover the two’s relationship anyways? It must have been painful, thought Amy. Eren was Mikasa’s everything—brother, father, friend, love. Losing him to a man more than twice their age was an outcome she must not have suspected—a sucker punch, directly shattering the heart. And Amy knew just how that felt—because Armin had felt the same, too. Amy found herself gripping onto Miruki’s hand, and she held on even when he tried to pull away.

“Miruki…please don’t,” she murmured. Her vision was getting blurry, and she knew immediately that her fight against treacherous tears was a losing battle. As her tears splashed onto their connected hands, she hiccupped. “D-don’t be angry…with me….anymore. P-please. I—I’m really so-sorry.”

She heard him sigh as he wretched his hand from hers; it made her cry even harder. He shook his head. “For a smart girl, you’re really stupid sometimes. C’mere, you.”

Amy couldn’t move; she twisted her fingers at the hem of her sweat-stained shirt, eyes on her feet. He sighed again and she gasped as his hand found her nape—she was stumbling forward, but her wet face was soon pillowed onto the crook of his shoulder. The relief was so great when he murmured softly into her ear: “I’m not angry with you, Amy. I’m not.”

Miruki rubbed circles in the small of her back, melting her further against him; her hands weakly gripped his damp shirt, helpless against the torrent of emotions within her. Because Armin had loved the girl named Mikasa; loved her in spite of her love for his best friend. He had stomped onto those feelings, desperately and vainly extinguishing those flames, determined to support the two instead. A permanent third wheel. Forever a bystander, an observer. In the dreams, there was the guilty relief of discovering that Eren did not love her that way, instead swinging into another man’s arms. Amy had found it ironic that, in the shadow of the Titans, they still could not push away those seemingly trivial issues. But wasn’t it those ‘trivial issues’ that made them human?

Indeed, it was a poor time for love. But even the threat of extinction could not lessen their humanity.

 Right now, she felt guilty for enjoying the warmth in his arms.

 She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, his sweat and listened as he confessed softly. “I’m… I’m frustrated with myself. I don’t know what to do, Amy. I’m questioning everything. There are times when I don’t know what’s real anymore. Why did he marry my mother? Does he love us? I don’t really hate Levi, but his being here is going to complicate everything, too. No—everything is complicated from the start. What else are we going to learn? What else are we supposed to know? Why do we even remember? If I tell Erik that I want to stop, would he stop? If we do stop now, would it ever end? How can we hide from ourselves anyways? Would I even want to hide? Why is this happening to us, Amy?” He pulled away slightly, those normally expressionless eyes now filled with confusion. “Why?”

Even in the present time, this pattern has been retained; the two still looked to her for clarity, for judgment. But this time, she was at loss. How was she supposed to comfort him when she was equally compromised? Sniffling softly, she rubbed the tear tracks from her face. “I can’t answer you, Miru. I don’t know myself. I…don’t know what’s really going on, or why. I…don’t know the future. But you’re right—we can’t hide from the past. We can’t hide from ourselves. So the only thing we can do for the present…is face the secrets of the past. Then maybe—maybe…if we learn about it…maybe we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Her eyes were trained on his, watching him absorb her words. As she finished, he was contemplative. Finally, she released the breath she had been holding when the cloud in his face dissipated. Affectionately, he rubbed the top of her head. “Amy, you don’t always make sense, you know. But I’ve always trusted you—then and now. So…all right. All right.” He repeated softly and they fell silent.

She yelped when he suddenly pinched her cheeks sideways.

“Miru—!”

“Stop crying,” he ordered sternly, but his eyes looked at her warmly. “Erik’s not the only one who hates seeing you cry, you know.”

The words made her heart swell. As he let go, she wiped away at her tears and smiled up at him so widely that her cheeks hurt.

“Better. Much, much better.”

With one last pat to her cheek, they walked back, hand in hand. Amy tucked away the blossoming sensation in her chest, convinced that it was simply the echo of Armin’s longing and not her very own.

* * *

“You’re being a brat about this, Amy,” Erik growled.

“I am not!” she huffed, crossing her arms. “It’s just—it’s been 7 whole days!”

They stood in front of a tiny convenience store across the school gates. The news of the escaped convict caught a nationwide sensation. The man, after all, was known for abducting then killing one child every seven days, regardless of sex, between 5 to 8 years old. The child would usually be found dead, three days later at the door steps of their own home, bearing signs of torture and rape. A branded sign of the triquetra were always on their forehead; thus, the media romantically named it as the Trinity Killer. Before he was caught 2 years ago, he had struck terror across every parent’s heart, and his rampage resulted in the death of 5 boys and 4 girls.

With the man loose, a lot of parents have decided to send out chaperones for most of their children. The Haarts and Hunters were no exception to this. Fortunately, there were no reported or sited killings thus far.

The tinkering of windchimes behind them signalled the arrival of Miruki, bearing three store-bought cups of chocolate sundae.

“What’s she saying again,” muttered Miruki as he distributed the goods to their eager hands.

“The usual,” said Erik manfully. “She’s being such a  _girl_.”

“I’m not! I mean—I am a girl—but why are you even using the term ‘girl’ in such a derogatory manner?”

“Derogatory?”

“She just meant you’re using the word ‘girl’ in a negative way. Like you don’t respect ‘em, or something, dude.”

“What? I didn’t say that!”

“You implied it!” said Amy, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever,” said Erik, borrowing his best friend’s favourite expression. “Whiner.”

“I am—mmf!” Her protest was abruptly stopped when Miruki shot a spoonful of sundae into her gaping mouth.

“Cool off,” Miruki turned to Erik’s stifled laughter. “You, too.”

“Fine.” Erik hurriedly consumed his own portions.

“Miru—”

“I’m afraid I have to side on Erik this time, Amy,” he said sternly as she hung her head. “You’re parents are worried.”

“You don’t have a chaperone!”

Miruki shrugged, “My house is just around the block. And I’m already 10…turning 11. The killer likes his targets younger.”

“Well, why isn’t Erik complaining?” she pointed out.

“Because,” he said, ladling and failing the rapidly melting cream from his cup. “I don’t want to worry mama. Anyways, we all may be the same age, but you’re way smaller than us, Amy. The killer might even mistake you for a 7 year old, or something.” Preoccupied with his sundae, he didn’t notice the girl blush and hang her head, nor did he notice Miruki narrowing his eyes a fraction.

 “Well. Y-you don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“What’re you saying?” said Erik cheerfully as he gave up with the ladling and drank it instead. “I have to wait for my folks, too.”

“But…” she hung her head and murmured almost incomprehensibly. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

Miruki sighed and patted her blonde head; today, it was artfully twisted into a top knot, held together by an assortment of rainbow pins. “You worry about the strangest things. Cheer up. This is just a phase. In a few weeks, everything will go back to normal.”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

* * *

“Historia…what do you want me to do?”

The girl fluttered her lashes, as though considering the woman’s words. Her melodic voice came softly, regretfully. She didn’t want to part with her, not this soon. But parting was inevitable.

“Find them. Bring them to me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMFG. What in the world is happening? *gasp*
> 
> Kidding. See you next chapter!


End file.
